Chapter 8
THE STEWARDESS'S STORYBut, after all, the story of Henrietta Sloane only added to the
mystery. She told it to me, sitting propped in a chair in Mrs.
Johns's room, her face white, her lips dry and twitching. The crew
were making such breakfast as they could on deck, and Mr. Turner
was still in a stupor in his room across the main cabin. The four
women, drawn together in their distress, were huddled in the center
of the room, touching hands now and then, as if finding comfort in
contact, and reassurance.
"I went to bed early," said the stewardess; "about ten o'clock,
I think. Karen had not come down; I wakened when the watch changed.
It was hot, and the window from our room to the deck was open.
There is a curtain over it, to keep the helmsman from looking in—it
is clo
