I called the request up the companionway,
unwilling to leave the cabin for a moment.
When I came back, Jones was standing at the
door of Vail's cabin, looking in. His face was
pale.

"Look there!" he said hoarsely. "Look at
the bell. He must have tried to push the
button!"

I stared in. Williams had put the cabin to
rights, as nearly as he could. The soaked mat-
tress was gone, and a clean linen sheet was
spread over the bunk. Poor Vail's clothing, as
he had taken it off the night before, hung on a
mahogany stand beside the bed, and above,
almost concealed by his coat, was the bell.
Jones's eyes were fixed on the darkish smear,
over and around the bell, on the white paint.

I measured the height of the bell from the
bed. It was well above, and to one side -- a
smear rather than a print, too indeterminate to
be of any value, sinister, cruel.

"He didn't do that, Charlie," I said. "He
couldn't have got up to it after -- That is the
murderer's mark. He leaned there, one hand
against the wall, to look down at his work.

-100-