‘I cannot say,’ I responded; ‘his hat was cut through and his head laid open. There is a dreadful illustration of what has happened close against the wheel.’ ‘In what form?’ she asked. ‘Blood!’ said I. ‘Why, it’s _murder_, then!’ cried Colledge. ‘It looks like it,’ said I, with a glance at Miss Temple’s face, that showed white as alabaster to the moonlight, whilst in each glowing dark eye sparkled a little star of silver far more brilliant than the ice-like flash of the diamonds which trembled in her ears. ‘But be the assassin what he may, I’ll swear by every saint in the calendar that he’s not aboard this ship.’ ‘Pray, explain, Mr. Dugdale,’ exclaimed Miss Temple in a voice of curiosity at once haughty and peevish. I made no answer. ‘My dear fellow, what do you want to imply?’ said Colledge: ‘that the man was struck down--by somebody out of doors?’ and his eyes went wandering over the sea. ‘It seems my mission, Miss Temple,’ said I with a half-laugh, ‘to furnish you with information on what happens on board the _Countess Ida_. Once again let me enjoy the privilege you do me the honour to confer upon me;’ and with that, in an offhand manner, I told her the story as you have it. ‘Did anybody, think you, crawl out of the hind windows,’ exclaimed Colledge, ‘and creep up over the stern and strike the man down?’ ‘No,’ said I. ‘How did it happen, then?’ asked Miss Temple fretfully. ‘Why,’ I answered, looking at her, ‘the blow was no doubt dealt by a spirit.’ ‘Lor’ bless us, how terrifying!’ exclaimed Mrs. Hudson, who, unknown to me, had drawn to my elbow to listen. ‘What with the heat and the sight of that blood!’ she cried, fanning herself violently. ‘A spirit, did you say, sir? Oh, I shall never be able to sleep in the ship again after this.’ I edged away, finding little pleasure in the prospect of a chat with Mrs. Hudson with Miss Temple close at hand to listen to us. At that moment Dr. Hemmeridge made his appearance. He stalked up to the captain, who stood with his hand gripping the vang of the spanker gaff, returning short almost gruff answers to the questions fired at him. ‘The man’s alive, sir,’ said the doctor; ‘but he’s badly hurt. I’ve soldered his wound; but it is an ugly cut.’ ‘Is he conscious?’ demanded Keeling. ‘He is.’ ‘And what does he say?’ ‘He has nothing to say, sir. How should he remember, Captain Keeling? He fell to the blow as an ox would.’ ‘Ha!’ cried the skipper; ‘but does he recollect seeing anybody lurking near him--has he any suspicion’---- ‘Sir,’ answered the doctor, ‘at the present moment his mind has but half an eye open.’