'When I do get back,' she said, 'when my father gets to know of this
affair, it will be an exceedingly bad day for you, Mr Jackson.'
'But supposing your father doesn't hear of it - '
'What?'
'Supposing you never get back?'
'Do you mean, then, to have my murder on your conscience?'
'Talking of murder,' he said, 'you came very near to murdering my
friend, Miss Spencer. At least, so she tells me.'
'Is Miss Spencer on board?' Nella asked, seeing perhaps a faint ray
of hope in the possible presence of a woman.
'Miss Spencer is not on board. There is no one on board except you
and myself and a small crew - a very discreet crew, I may add.'
'I will have nothing more to say to you. You must take your own
course.'
Thanks for the permission,' he said. 'I will send you up some
breakfast.'
He went to the saloon stairs and whistled, and a Negro boy
appeared with a tray of chocolate. Nella took it, and, without the
slightest hesitation, threw it overboard. Mr Jackson walked away a
few steps and then returned.
'You have spirit,' he said, 'and I admire spirit. It is a rare quality.'
She made no reply. 'Why did you mix yourself up in my affairs at
all?' he went on. Again she made no reply, but the question set her
thinking: why had she mixed herself up in this mysterious
business? It was quite at variance with the usual methods of her
gay and butterfly existence to meddle at all with serious things.
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