her husband?" queried Kennedy, seeking confirmation of what we
had already heard.

"Armand De Guerre, a Belgian, of Antwerp," was the reply, "one of the
partners in a famous old diamond-cutting firm of that city."

Kennedy looked at the purser keenly for a moment, then asked, "Were they
traveling together?"

"Oh, yes,--that is, he had engaged a room, but you know how crowded the
boats are with refugees fleeing to America from the war. He gave up his
room, or rather his share of it, to a woman, a professional saleswoman,
well known, I believe, in Antwerp as well as the Rue de la Paix in Paris
and Maiden Lane and Fifth Avenue of your city, a Miss Hoffman--Elsa
Hoffman. She shared the room with Rawaruska, while De Guerre took his
chances in the steerage."

As we walked down one of the main corridors we noticed ahead of us a
seemingly very nervous and excited gentleman engaged apparently in a
heated conversation with another.

"Monsieur De Guerre," whispered Thompson as we approached.

The two seemed to be just on the point of parting, as we neared them,
and, I think, our approach hastened them. I could not hear what one of
them said, but I heard De Guerre almost hiss, as he turned on his heel,
"Well, sir, you were the last one seen with her alive."

A moment later the purser introduced us to De Guerre. There was
something about him which I can hardly express on paper, a sort of
hypnotic fascination. I felt instinctively that such a man would wield a
powerful influence over some women. Was it in his eyes, or was it merely
his ardent foreign grace?

"You _must_ find out the truth," he cried eagerly. "Already they are
saying that it was suicide. But I cannot believe it. It cannot be.
No,--she was murdered!"

Kennedy ventured no opinion, but now, more than ever, hastened to
signify to the purser that he wanted to look over the ground as quickly
as possible before the ship docked.

Rawaruska, we found, had occupied Room 186, on the port side of one of
the lower decks. Kennedy seemed to be keenly interested, as we
approached the room in which the body still lay, awaiting arrival at the
pier a few hours later.

The stateroom, apparently, ran to the very skin of the vessel and the
ports opened directly on the water, not upon an outside deck, as with
the rooms above it. It was an outside room at the end of a sort of
cross alleyway, and it was impossible that anyone could have reached it
except through the corridors.