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her head. “No real reason—no. Of course not.”
    “You’ll find her in your stateroom when you go below,” counseled the school teacher. “Go and see, at any rate. I’ll look around up here on the deck.”
    Candida nodded, and color began to return to her tanned face. She called over her shoulder as she went, “I’ll meet you here…”
    Miss Withers made a brisk and thorough survey of the boat deck, from the ladders that led to the bridge past lifeboats, deck houses, shuffleboard courts, to the after rail. She peered into the window of the wireless room, where plump, genial Sparks was admiring his collection of French postcards in a fog of blue tobacco smoke. Sometimes passengers dropped in for a chat with Sparks, but tonight he was alone. She tried the lid of the blanket locker, and found it repaired and securely padlocked.
    Finally Miss Withers returned to the rail, where she had seen Rosemary leaning with her blue scarf whipping in the wind. She stared into the night, but the night kept its secret. There was a chillness in the wind which she had not noticed before.
    She waited ten minutes—fifteen, perhaps. Still Candida did not return. Did that mean that she had found her roommate or not? Miss Withers was thoroughly chilled by this time. She went forward along the deck, wondering. Had there been a splash? Had she by any chance dropped off for a moment’s doze and not heard it?
    She looked up toward the bridge and saw the broad shoulders of Captain Everett moving against the sky. This sort of thing was his responsibility, not hers. Why, no matter where she wandered, did the real or fancied troubles of those around her inevitably come to rest upon her shoulders? She felt weak and tired…
    Her tiredness was swept away when she saw Candida Noring belatedly appearing up the forward ladder. The girl came toward her, almost running. But she pushed past and clambered wildly up the bridge ladder. Miss Withers clutched the rail and listened…
    “She’s gone!” Candida cried. “Stop the ship, I tell you. Go back, oh, for God’s sake, go back!” Somebody barked a hoarse order.
    The engine room signal tinkled mysteriously, and Miss Withers felt the slackening of the mighty engines far in the bowels of the ship.
    Eight bells rang out for midnight at that moment. “Good heavens, woman,” barked the voice of the captain, “what are you asking? Your friend is probably in somebody’s cabin. I can’t put my ship about and lose time because you fancy—”
    Candida was clutching at his uniform. “I tell you I know!” she cried. “Just because nobody heard her fall…”
    Captain Everett hesitated, and then gave the order, his wide shoulders limp. “Put her about,” he told the officer. They made hurried calculations. He swung toward Candida. “When did you miss her?”
    “Oh—I don’t know. I’ve been searching everywhere for a long time.” The captain shrugged hopelessly. First Officer Jenkins cut off “Metal Mike” and took the stubborn wheel.
    Then he was startled by the apparition of a long New England face that rose unsteadily level with his ankles. Miss Hildegarde Withers peered onto the bridge. “The girl was last seen a few minutes before eleven, at the rail,” she announced.
    “An hour ago? Good God, we’ve come eighteen knots!” The captain seemed perceptibly to lose weight. He turned to Jenkins. “You can put back on the course, mister.” Bells tinkled again, and the sky began to swing…
    “But you must turn back!” protested Candida. Captain Everett shook his head. “We couldn’t get to that approximate spot on the chart inside of another hour. No swimmer in God’s world could keep afloat in these waters for so long a time.” He drew a deep breath. “Anyway, perhaps you’re wrong. We—I’ll have the ship searched.”
    He swung down the ladder as Miss Withers backed out of his way. Candida followed woodenly. “That girl wouldn’t commit suicide,” Captain Everett said, as