"Were you scared?"
"Scared! I had the worst case of stage fright I ever had. All the bones in my spine was clicking like castanets, tangoing faster'n Reny Castle's."
"Well, there's a lot more of them, heaps all over the island," returned her opponent viciously.
"Fur the luv o' Mike! you don't say so! The place is a morgue. We gotta beat it, we gotta beat it. I've seen guys croaked and never turned a hair—but no skeletons for mine."
Appeased a little with the advantage in the skirmish, Sally smiled. The tables were surely turned. True, terra firma was all that and more to Carlotta. Once on it, and away from the dreaded deep, her spirits had risen, particularly with an audience before her—but—those skeletons weren't any too reassuring!
"But tell me what is your name," Sally ventured. "You apparently know mine."
"Yes, yours is Fell, Sally for monicker. You see Miss Fell, Mr. Huntington and I are intimate, oh, very intimate. He told me all about you."
"Phil Huntington? Where is he?"
"Wouldn't you like to know? My name's Carlotta, they call me 'Carlotta, the Divine.' Pretty isn't it? He's the swell little press-agent, that Abey Clout. But"—in a burst of good humoured confidence—"my real name's Rosey Cohen, and I don't care who knows it—but call me Carlotta. Everybody does now."
Her curiosity aroused, Sally questioned further:
