Ordith, moved at last, went aft, followed by John and Cunwell. Toby, standing near a blood-soaked body that lay on the deck, was questioning a seaman whose nerves had gone. “You shouted ‘Man overboard!’ didn’t you?” “Yessir.” “Did you see him go over?” “Not _see ’im_, sir, as you might say. Thought I saw a splash, sir.” “Splash--in this sea?” “Well, sir--seemed a splash like.” Toby resisted a desire to stamp his foot and shake his fist. “Did you hear anything?” “Wouldn’t ’ear no splash in this sea, sir.” “No,” said Toby, “quite right; you wouldn’t.” Then, taking breath, he continued more calmly. “There’s nothing more to be done--the boat’s away; this man’s dead; take your time: I want to find out if there’s a man overboard or not. What made you think there was? What made you shout ‘Man overboard’?” “Well, sir, there was two standin’ there talkin’. I seed ’em on’y a few minutes gone. An’ when the accid’nt ’appened, sir, ’an I looked again, there was on’y one”--he glanced at the body, and finished lamely--“on’y one, as you might say, sir.” “Then one’s gone, unless he moved away. Did you see who they were?” “There was Skidd, sir--that’s Skidd, lyin’ there.” “I know. The other?” “Didn’t see no face, sir. Didn’t notice.” Toby ran a handkerchief over his forehead. Hogge had come up. “Well? Mustered the hands?” “Owlett’s gone, sir.” “Owlett? Sure he’s not away in the boat?” “No, sir; ’e’s not in the boat, sir.” “Right.... Was every man warned not to go aft of the steadying lines?” “Yes, sir. Accordin’ to your orders, sir.” “You could swear to that, if need be?” “Swear’t on the Bible, sir. Warned this Owlett meself, sir. Never was one to take ’eed.” “Very good.” Toby saw Ordith, and greeted him as if almost surprised by his presence. “Hullo Ordith.... Poor fellow! gone down like a stone. They’ll never find him.... Fool to stand there--damned fool! Oh well!” “Head off?” said Ordith, pointing to the now covered body. “Nearly.... Good seaman, that. Wife and three children.” Ordith turned for’ard as Toby left him on his way to the bridge. “Five minutes later, might have been me.... This valuable head,” he added, a little shaken. “And Aggett rummaging my cabin.” He patted his pockets. “By Jove! left the keys, too.” Then, suddenly perceiving Cunwell, he gripped his arm. “Don’t care for Aggett,” he said confidentially; “do you?” He returned to his deck-chair. “Wonder if we can help Toby at all?... No.” He moved his shoulders as if adjusting the set of a coat, opened his cigarette-case and shut it again with a snap. “Oh well!” He sighed, leaned back, interlaced his fingers behind his valuable head, and, because the sun was strong, tilted his cap over his eyes. II That evening two Wardroom Officers came into the Gunroom to play poker. At the end of the table which the game left free, John sat down to write his letter. He had been too near to death that afternoon to waste more time. He wrote the date and