The other smiled, a gentle, triumphant smile. The smile of a man who, humbly recognising himself at a just estimation, is conscious of having outwitted another, cleverer than himself. “You finish your pipe,” he said, and he walked away with long firm strides towards the saloon stairs. The Doctor went to the rail, where, resting his arms on the solid teak, he leant, gazing thoughtfully out over the sea, which was part of his life. For he knew the great waters, and loved them with all the quiet strength of a slow-tongued man. Before very long some one came behind and touched him on the shoulder. He turned, and in the fading light looked into the smiling face of his late companion--the same and yet quite different, for the beard was gone, and there only remained the long fair moustache. “Yes,” said Dr. Mark Ruthine, “Jem Agar. I was a fool not to know you at first.” A sort of shyness flickered for a moment in the blue eyes. “I have been practising so hard during the last ten months to look like some one else that I hardly feel like myself,” he said. “Um-m! There was something uncanny about you when you first came on board. I used to watch you at meals, and wonder what it was. By God, Agar, I _am_ glad!” “Thanks,” replied Jem Agar. He was looking round him rather nervously. “You don't think there is anybody on board who will know me, do you?” “No one, barring the Captain.” “Oh,” said Agar calmly, “he is all right. He can keep his mouth shut.” “There is no doubt about that,” replied the Doctor. A little pause followed, during which they both listened involuntarily to the ice-cream merchant's musical voice, which was now floating over the silent decks, raised in song. “I should like to hear all about it some day,” said the ship's surgeon at last. He knew his man, and no detail of the strange lives that passed the horizon of his daily existence was ever forgotten. Only he usually found that those who had the most to tell required a little assistance in their narration. “It is rather a rum business,” answered Jem Agar, not displeased. At this moment the ship's bell rang four clear notes into the night. “Ten o'clock,” said the Doctor. “Come into my cabin and have a smoke; the Captain will be in soon. He would like to hear the story too.” So they passed into the cabin, and before they had been there many minutes the Captain joined them. For a moment he stood in the doorway, then he came forward with outstretched hand. “Well,” he said, “all that I can say is that you ought to be dead. But it's not my business.” He had seen too many freaks of fortune to be surprised at this. “I thought,” he continued, “that there was something familiar about the back of your head. Back of a man's head never changes. It's a funny thing.” He sat down in his usual chair, and looked with a cheery smile upon him who had risen from the death column of the _Times_. Then he turned to his pipe.