'A young man, exposed as you are, ought to insure himself,' said Mr Markham. The third officer--by name Dick Rendal--knew something of the inquisitiveness and idle ways of passengers. This was his fifth trip in the _Carnatic_. He took no truck in passengers beyond showing them the patient politeness enjoined by the Company's rules. He knew nothing of Mr Markham, who dispensed with the services of a valet and dressed with a shabbiness only pardonable in the extremely rich. Mr Markham, 'the Insurance King,' had arrayed himself this morning in gray flannel, with a reach-me-down overcoat, cloth cap, and carpet slippers that betrayed his flat, Jewish instep. Dick Rendal sized him up for an insurance tout; but behaved precisely as he would have behaved on better information. He refrained from ordering the intruder aft; but eyed him less than amiably--being young, keen on his ship, and just now keen on his job. 'I saw you yesterday,' said Mr Markham. (It had blown more than half a gale, and late in the afternoon three heavy seas had come aboard. The third officer at this moment was employed with half a dozen seamen in repairing damages.) 'I was watching. As I judged, it was the nicest miss you weren't overboard. Over and above employers' liability you should insure. The Hands Across Mutual Exchange-- that's your office.' Mr Markham leaned back, and put a hand up to his inner breast-pocket--it is uncertain whether for his cigar-case, or for some leaflet relating to the Hands Across. 'Take care, sir!' said the third officer sharply. 'That stanchion--' He called too late. The hand as it touched the breast-pocket, shot up and clawed at the air. With a voice that was less a cry than a startled grunt, Mr Markham pitched backwards off the fore-deck into the sea. The third officer stared for just a fraction of a second; ran, seized a life-belt as the liner's length went shooting past; and hurled it-- with pretty good aim, too--almost before a man of his working party had time to raise the cry of 'Man overboard!' Before the alarm reached the bridge, he had kicked off his shoes; and the last sound in his ears as he dived was the ping of the bell ringing down to the engine-room--a thin note, infinitely distant, speaking out of an immense silence. CHAPTER II.