"What d’ye say?" questioned the piano-player. "What does everybody say? Th’ police will pinch us all for th’ murder an’ keep us in jail for weeks."
"You knifed that woman!" declared Stirling.
The piano-player blinked his pale lashes, then went to the door, drew a key from his pocket, and threw back the bolt of the lock. He looked out into the vale of mist and fog that stretched from Telegraph Hill to the waters of the Bay.
"Who’ll help me carry Thedessa?" he queried.
A crimp, the waiter, and one or two seamen offered their services. Stirling hesitated, but again he felt the urge from the second-lieutenant, and agreed by nodding his head.
The piano-player, who knew the path, led the way with the woman’s feet under his arm, the waiter and a seaman supporting Thedessa’s head. Stirling and the sailor brought up the rear.
"My name is Eagan," said the sailor. "We’ll go along and see what happens. It’s th’ best way out of a nasty jam."
"Were you in the Bering Strait three seasons ago?"
Eagan shook his head, clutched Stirling’s arm, and guided him after the trio who had carried the woman out upon Meigg’s Wharf and were lowering her into a Whitehall boat.
"No," he said to Stirling. "But I got something to say to you—after awhile. Something important."
The Ice Pilot hesitated on the stringer-piece of the wharf and looked toward the fog-covered Bay, but again Eagan guided him on. They seized hold of a painter that was hitched to a cleat, descended to the Whitehall boat, and cast loose from the wharf.
Thedessa lay in the stern of the boat where the piano-player and waiter sat with their heads close together. A seaman rowed skilfully, and the sharp-prowed boat cut through the short waves, swung, steadied, and made toward a dark mass on the surface of San Francisco Bay.
Stirling suddenly felt water around his boots. He glanced down and lifted his feet. He heard a cry from the piano-player.
"We’re sinking! There’s no plug in this boat!"
Eagan attempted to find the plug-hole. He rose with his hands dripping bilge muck. The man at the oars dug the blades deep into the bay, bent his back, and dug again as if his life were at stake.
Stirling climbed into the bow of the boat, stared through the fog, and heard a ship’s bell striking. He motioned for the oarsman to row in that direction, and the light craft steadied upon the dark mass.