clear water, from the height we were
above it, we saw everything. The shark was a big brute, and with one
drive he cut the boy squarely in half.

"There was a murmur or something from among us--who made it I did not
know; it might have been I. And then there was silence. Miss Caruthers
was the first to speak. Her face was deathly white.

"'I never dreamed,' she said, and laughed a short, hysterical laugh.

"All her pride was at work to give her control. She turned weakly toward
Dennitson, and then, on from one to another of us. In her eyes was a
terrible sickness, and her lips were trembling. We were brutes--oh, I
know it, now that I look back upon it. But we did nothing.

"'Mr. Dennitson,' she said, 'Tom, won't you take me below!'

"He never changed the direction of his gaze, which was the bleakest I
have ever seen in a man's face, nor did he move an eyelid. He took a
cigarette from his case and lighted it. Captain Bentley made a nasty
sound in his throat and spat overboard. That was all; that and the
silence.

"She turned away and started to walk firmly down the deck. Twenty feet
away, she swayed and thrust a hand against the wall to save herself. And
so she went on, supporting herself against the cabins and walking very
slowly." Treloar ceased. He turned his head and favored the little man
with a look of cold inquiry.

"Well," he said finally. "Classify her."

The little man gulped and swallowed.

"I have nothing to say," he said. "I have nothing whatever to say."

TO KILL A MAN

THOUGH dim night-lights burned, she moved familiarly through the big
rooms and wide halls, seeking vainly the half-finished book of verse she
had mislaid and only now remembered. When she turned on the lights in
the drawing-room, she disclosed herself clad in a sweeping negligee gown
of soft rose-colored stuff, throat and shoulders smothered in lace. Her
rings were still on her fingers, her massed yellow hair had not yet been
taken down. She was delicately, gracefully beautiful, with slender,
oval face, red lips, a faint color in the cheeks, and blue eyes of the
chameleon sort that at will stare wide with the innocence of childhood,
go hard and gray and brilliantly cold, or flame up in hot wilfulness and
mastery.

She turned the lights off and passed out and down the hall toward the
morning room. At the entrance she paused and listened. From farther on
had come, not a noise, but an impression of movement. She could have