"No, the twenty-sixth," said the captain evenly. He looked at his clock for verification, but found it not. "I'm sorry," he said at once, "it _is_ the twenty-seventh. I had no idea it was after midnight." Wembler nodded. "A year ago this morning the _Cumberland_ went down off the coast of Java." Captain Henderson snatched at the change of subject. "That was quite a mystery, as I remember it. There were only a few survivors, I think." Wembler said, "only one--the first mate. They got some ugly rumours out about him shortly after he appeared. Said he'd blown up the ship during the storm." "His wife went down, too, if I'm not mistaken," said the captain, as if questioning Wembler's suggestion. Wembler nodded. "They said it was partly because of her that he did it. There was another man on board, and I understand there'd been bad blood between the mate and this man on account of his wife. Then, too, the first mate had had a terrible time with the captain, and wanted to get even with him. Did the thing in a moment of madness." The captain looked at him for a moment without seeming to see him. Talbot spoke suddenly. "All of which goes to show how oddly unfounded rumours come up. We know that no one but that first mate survived the disaster--and yet someone got out those rumours about him." The captain nodded. "You speak about it as if you had seen it all," he said, turning to Wembler. Wembler laughed. "I knew the first mate pretty well, and I knew what he was capable of doing when he got jealous. His wife was a most attractive woman." "You think he really sent the _Cumberland_ down, then?" asked the captain. "I know he did," said Wembler shortly. "Nonsense!" snapped Talbot with unexpected sharpness. "Only the first mate would know that--and unless he's told you, you couldn't know." Wembler looked at him curiously. "He didn't tell me--but his wife did." Talbot looked as if he might explode; then abruptly he said, "Oh, I see--spiritualism." And thus he dismissed the subject. The door of the cabin opened suddenly, and Munro looked in. "Something wrong, sir," he said. "Eh? What is it?" asked Henderson. "Lights on the water. Looks like a ship sinking, or else we're close to Java." Munro paused. "Will you come, sir?" The captain nodded shortly and turned to his companions. "If you gentlemen would care to come along--? This promises to be interesting. There are greatcoats in the closet over there." Munro led the way to the upper deck; the four men followed after him, bracing themselves against the gale. On the upper deck they were met by the first mate. Captain Henderson raised his binoculars and stared vainly into the pall of darkness broken every few minutes by vivid, jagged flashes of lightning. Huge waves obstructed his vision at regular intervals. "Can't see a thing," he shouted. Then he swept the raging sea and sky once more. Abruptly, lights on the water came into view. "There they are," shouted the first mate.