"Who found her?" asked Craig. "How was she discovered?"

"Why, Miss Hoffman found her," replied the purser quickly. "She called
one of the stewards. She had been sitting in the library reading until
quite late and Rawaruska had retired early, for she was not a good
sailor, they tell me. It must have been nearly midnight when De Guerre
and a friend, pausing at the library door on their way from the smoking
room, saw Miss Hoffman, and all three stopped in the Ritz restaurant for
a bite to eat.

"De Guerre walked down the corridor with Miss Hoffman afterwards," he
continued, "and left her as she went into the room with his wife.
Perhaps a minute later--long enough anyway so that he had reached the
other end of the corridor--she screamed. She had turned on the light and
had found Rawaruska lying half across the bed, unconscious. Miss Hoffman
called to the steward to summon Dr. Preston, but he came to me first,
instead."

"Dr. Preston?" repeated Kennedy.

"Yes, a young American physician, the friend who had been with De Guerre
in the smoking room part of the evening, and later made up the party in
the restaurant," vouchsafed Sanderson.

"The man De Guerre was talking to as we came down the hall," put in
Thompson.

"H'm," mused Kennedy, evidently thinking of the remark we had overheard.

"I've talked with him now and then myself," admitted Sanderson; "a
bright fellow who has been studying abroad and after many adventures
succeeded in getting across the border into Holland and thence to
England. He managed to squeeze into the steerage of the _Sylvania_,
though, of course, like De Guerre, he was classed as a first-cabin
passenger. He had become very friendly with Rawaruska and her party
while they were waiting for bookings in London."

Thompson leaned over. "The steward in the corridor tells me," he said in
a low tone, "that early in the evening Dr. Preston and Rawaruska were
on the promenade deck together."

I tried vaguely to piece together the scraps of information which we had
gleaned. Kennedy, however, said nothing, but was now leaning over the
body of the little dancer, looking at the upper region of her spine
attentively. Quietly, from a group of three or four little red marks on
her back he squeezed out several drops of liquid, absorbing them on a
piece of sterile gauze.

A moment later, De Guerre, who had quietly slipped away during the
examination, as if unable to bear the sight of the tragedy, returned,