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It was some moments before she had calmed herself so that she could go on. “You know our people, Professor Kennedy,” she resumed, choking back her sobs. “Some said his dead body was like Jonah, and ought to be thrown off to the sea. Then others didn’t even want to have it touched, said that it ought to be embalmed. And others didn’t want that, either.”

“What do you mean? Who were they?”

“Oh, there was one man,–Castine,” she replied, hesitating over the name, as though afraid even to mention it.

“He wanted it thrown overboard?” prompted Craig.

“N–no, he didn’t want that, either,” she replied. “He urged them not to touch it–just to leave it alone.”

She was very much frightened, evidently at her own temerity in coming to Craig and saying so much. Yet something seemed to impel her to go on.

“Oh, Professor Kennedy,” she exclaimed in a sudden burst of renewed feeling, “don’t you understand? I–I loved him–even after I found out about the money and what he intended to do with it. I could not see his dear body thrown in the ocean.”

She shivered all over at the thought, and it was some time before she said anything more. But Kennedy let her do as she pleased, as he often did when deep emotion was wringing the secrets from people’s hearts.

“He is dead!” she sobbed wildly. “Was he poisoned? Oh, can’t you find out? Can’t you help me?”

Suddenly her voice in wild appeal sank almost to a hoarse whisper. “You must not let anybody know that I came to you,” she implored.

“Why not?”

“Oh–I–I am just afraid–that’s all.”

There was real fear in her tone and face now, fear for herself.

“Where is the body?” asked Kennedy, to get her mind off whatever hung like an incubus over it.

“Down on the Haytien, at the pier, over in Brooklyn, still,” she replied. “They kept us all interned there. But my guardian had enough influence to get off for a time and while he is arranging for quarters for our stay after we are released, I slipped away to see you.”

“You must go back to the boat?”

“Oh, yes. We agreed to go back.”

“Then I shall be down immediately,” Craig promised. “If you will go ahead, I will see you there. Perhaps, at first you had better not recognize me. I will contrive some way to meet you. Then they will not know.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, as she rose to go, now in doubt whether she had done the best thing to come to Craig, now glad that she had some outside assistance in which she could trust.

He accompanied her to the door, bidding her keep up her courage, then closed it, waiting until her footsteps down the hall had died away.

Then he opened our door and caught sight of Burke’s face.

“That’s strange, Burke,” he began, before he realized what the expression on his face meant. “There’s a woman–what? You don’t mean to tell me that you knew her?”

“Why, yes,” hastened Burke. “There was a rich old planter, Henri Aux Cayes, aboard, too. She’s his ward, Mademoiselle Collette.”

“That’s right,” nodded Craig in surprise.

“She’s the woman I was telling you about. She may be a little dark, but she’s a beauty, all right. I heard what she said. No wonder she was so frantic, then.”

“What do you know of the bankers, Forsythe & Co.?” asked Craig.

“Forsythe & Co.?” considered Burke. “Well, not much, perhaps. But for a long time, I believe, they’ve been the bankers and promoters of defunct Caribbean islands, reaping a rich harvest out of the troubles of those decrepit governments, playing one against the other.”

“H-m,” mused Kennedy. “Can you go over to Brooklyn with me now?”

“Of course,” agreed Burke, brightening up. “That was what I hoped you’d do.”

Kennedy and I were just about to leave the laboratory with Burke when an idea seemed to occur to Craig. He excused himself and went back to a cabinet where I saw him place a little vial and a hypodermic needle in his vest pocket.