They walked forward, the doctor a trifle unsteady in his gait, I thought. I went to my berth for some tobacco; I stayed a short time below, and when I returned, the last scar of sunset was gone. The west was a liquid violet darkness trembling with stars, and the ship was floating through the darkness of the night, which in these latitudes follows swiftly upon the heels of the departing day. Captain Keeling had come aft, and was standing in the midst of a crowd of passengers answering questions, and soothing the women, who were snapping inquiries in whole volleys, their voices threaded by tremors and shrill with nerves. Mr. Prance, who had found time to cleanse himself, was on deck in charge of the ship. All was hushed forwards. Against the stars twinkling over the line of the forecastle rail under the foot of the foresail, that slowly lifted and fell to the heave of the ship. I could distinguish the outlines of sailors moving here and there in twos and threes. A subdued hoarse prowling of voices came out of the block of darkness round about the galley and the long-boat, where were gathered a number of men, doubtlessly discoursing on the marvellous incident of the evening. The glittering brilliants in the sky winked like dewdrops along the black edge of the spars and at the extremity of the yard-arms; and spite of the voices of the people aft and of the mutterings forward, so deep was the ocean hush up aloft that again and again the sound of the delicate night-breeze, breathing lightly into the visionary spaces of the sails, would fall like a sigh upon the ear. ‘An exciting piece of work, Mr. Prance,’ said I, stepping to his side, ‘taking it from the start to the close.’ ‘Why, yes,’ he answered. ‘The passengers will not be wanting in experiences to relate when they get ashore. Enough has happened yesterday and to-day, in the way of excitement, I mean, to last out an ordinary voyage, though it were as long as one of Captain Cook’s.’ ‘What has Hemmeridge to say about this business of Crabb, do you know?’ I asked. ‘You will keep the news to yourself, if you please,’ he answered; ‘but I don’t mind telling _you_ that he’s under arrest--that is to say, he has to consider himself so.’ ‘What for?’ I asked, greatly astonished. ‘Why, Mr. Dugdale,’ said he, slowly looking round, to make sure that the coast was clear, ‘you may easily guess that this business of the scoundrel Crabb--an old pirate, as I remember telling you, signifies a very deep-laid plot, an atrociously ingenious conspiracy.’ ‘I supposed that at once,’ said I.