“It’s my opinion,” said the visitor, hotly, “that you’re trying to deceive me. Have you got a match?” The owner of the voice said that he had not, and with chilly propriety added that he wouldn’t give it to her if he had. Whereupon the lady rose, and, fumbling on the little mantel-piece, found a box and struck one. There was a lamp nailed to the bulkhead over the mantel-piece, and calmly removing the chimney, she lit it. A red, excited face, with the bedclothes fast about its neck, appeared in a small bunk and stared at her in speechless amaze. The visitor returned his gaze calmly, and then looked carefully round the cabin. “Where does that lead to?” she asked, pointing to the door of the state-room. The mate, remembering in time the mysterious behaviour of Flower, considered the situation. “That’s the pantry,” he said, untruthfully. The visitor rose and tried the handle. The door was locked, and she looked doubtfully at the mate. “I suppose that’s a leg of mutton I can hear asleep in there,” she said, with acerbity. “You can suppose what you like,” said the mate, testily; “why don’t you go away? I’m surprised at you.” “You’ll be more surprised before I’ve done with you,” said the lady, with emotion. “My Fred’s in there, and you know it.” “Your Fred!” said Fraser, in great surprise. “Mr. Robinson,” said the visitor, correcting herself. “I tell you there’s nobody in there except the skipper,” said the mate. “You said it was the pantry just now,” exclaimed the other, sharply. “The skipper sleeps in the pantry so’s he can keep his eye on the meat,” explained Fraser. The visitor looked at him angrily. “What sort of a man is he?” she enquired, suddenly. “You’ll soon know if he comes out,” said the mate. “He’s the worst-tempered man afloat, I should think. If he comes out and finds you here, I don’t know what he’ll do.” “I’m not afraid of him,” said the other, with spirit. “What do you call him? Skipper?” The mate nodded, and the visitor tapped loudly at the door. “Skipper!” she cried, “Skipper!” No answer being vouchsafed, she repeated her cry in a voice louder than before. “He’s a heavy sleeper,” said the perturbed Fraser; “better go away, there’s a good girl.” The lady, scornfully ignoring him, rapped on the door and again called upon its occupant. Then, despite her assurance, she sprang back with a scream as a reply burst through the door with the suddenness and fury of a thunder-clap. “HALLOA!” it said. “My goodness,” said the visitor, aghast. “What a voice! What a terrible voice!” She recovered herself and again approached the door. “Is there a gentleman named Robinson in there?” she asked, timidly. “GENTLEMAN NAMED WHO?” came the thunder-clap again. “Robinson,” said the lady, faintly. “NO! NO!” said the thunder-clap. Then—“GO AWAY,” it rumbled. “GO AWAY.”