The Girl on the Boat - Penn State University

“I shot at him,” said Jane. “My belief is that I missed
him. Though how I came to do it beats me. I don’t
suppose I’ve missed a sitter like that since I was a child
in the nursery. Of course,” she proceeded, looking on
the reasonable side, “the visibility wasn’t good, but it’s
no use saying I oughtn’t at least to have winged him,
because I ought.” She shook her head with a touch of
self-reproach. “I shall get chaffed about this if it comes
out,” she said regretfully.
“<strong>The</strong> poor boy must be in his room,” said Mr.
Mortimer.
“Under the bed, if you ask me,” said Jane, blowing
on the barrel of her gun and polishing it with the side
of her hand. “He’s all right! Leave him alone, and the
housemaid will sweep him up in the morning.”
“Oh, he can’t be!” cried Billie, revolted.
A girl of high spirit, it seemed to her repellent that
the man she was engaged to marry should be displaying
such a craven spirit. At that moment she despised
and hated Bream Mortimer. I think she was wrong,
mind you. It is not my place to criticise the little group
<strong>The</strong> <strong>Girl</strong> on the Boat
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of people whose simple annals I am relating—my position
is merely that of a reporter—; but personally I think
highly of Bream’s sturdy common-sense. If somebody
loosed off an elephant-gun at me in a dark corridor, I
would climb on to the roof and pull it up after me.
Still, rightly or wrongly, that was how Billie felt; and it
flashed across her mind that Samuel Marlowe, scoundrel
though he was, would not have behaved like this.
And for a moment a certain wistfulness added itself to
the varied emotions then engaging her mind.
“I’ll go and look, if you like,” said Jane agreeably.
“You amuse yourselves somehow till I come back.”
She ran easily up the stairs, three at a time. Mr.
Mortimer turned to Mr. Bennett.
“It’s all very well your saying Wilhelmina mustn’t go,
but, if she doesn’t, how can we get the police? <strong>The</strong> house
isn’t on the ‘phone, and nobody else can drive the car.”
“That’s true,” said Mr. Bennett, wavering.
“Of course, we could drop them a post-card first thing
to-morrow morning,” said Mr. Mortimer in his nasty
sarcastic way.