‘Why, my dear sir,’ I answered, ‘you have a large company of sailors on board, and the ship is full of deep-sea voices, and I carry ears in my head, Mr. Prance.’ ‘Humph!’ said he. ‘Well, as I’ve always said, news travels a deal too fast aboard passenger craft. In fact, I’ve known passengers to pick up things which had remained for weeks afterwards secrets to the captain and mates.’ He emptied a glass of marsala and added: ‘You are right in speaking of the man’s ugliness. I have been to see him as he lies in his bunk.’ He made a dreadful grimace and upturned his eyes to the deck above. ‘Was this Crabb a pirate?’ said I. ‘Ay,’ he answered; ‘but I had not heard of it down to half an hour ago. The carpenter knew him, but held his tongue when he found him a shipmate. Now that the fellow is dead, Chips has a yarn as long as the sea-snake about him. He did business in West Indian waters; and the carpenter says that if the stories he told against himself were to be believed, no viler miscreant ever stepped between the rails of a ship.’ ‘But did he brag of his evil doings in the forecastle before the men?’ I asked. ‘No; Chips had been shipmate with him two voyages ago in a small craft, and he afterwards met him ashore in several of the low sailors’ haunts down in the east end of London. When he had too much drink, he would out with the most blood-curdling tales of atrocity. No, sir; he kept his counsel aboard this ship. He knew what would have followed had his career been suspected by us aft.’ ‘When do you bury him?’ said I. ‘To-morrow morning, I suppose,’ he answered. ‘Captain Keeling is averse to hasty funerals. I’ve heard him say that when he was chief mate, a man died, and two hours later the body had been stitched up ready for the last toss; but whilst the captain was looking for his Prayer-book, the boatswain of the ship came rushing aft with his hair on end and his eyes half out of his head to report that the hammock with its contents had rolled off the grating on which it was placed, and was wriggling about the deck. When it was cut open, the fellow inside was found to be alive, bathed in perspiration and half-mad with fright.’ This conversation we had carried on in a low voice, easily managed, as I sat on his right hand close against him. A few minutes later the mate went on to the poop, and I stepped to the quarter-deck to smoke a cheroot. Whilst I was preparing the weed to light it, Dr. Hemmeridge came out of the cuddy. ‘You may be interested to know,’ said he, ‘that your ugly friend is dead.’ ‘And that is what you wished to convey to me by winking?’ said I. He nodded with a smile that could scarcely be called sober. ‘You took a particular interest in him,’ he exclaimed, ‘and so I thought I would give you the news before I made my report to the captain.’ ‘You are very good,’ I exclaimed with a sarcastic bow.