“Do?” Mr. Pike’s voice was fraught with surprise that I should not know. “Do? Well, what did he do to old Captain Somers? Yet he’s disappeared these last three years now. I’ve heard neither hide nor hair of him. But he’s a sailor, and he’ll drift back to the sea, and some day . . . ” In the illumination of a match with which the second mate was lighting his pipe I saw Mr. Pike’s gorilla arms and huge clenched paws raised to heaven, and his face convulsed and working. Also, in that brief moment of light, I saw that the second mate’s hand which held the match was shaking. “And I ain’t never seen even a photo of him,” Mr. Pike added. “But I’ve got a general idea of his looks, and he’s got a mark unmistakable. I could know him by it in the dark. All I’d have to do is feel it. Some day I’ll stick my fingers into that mark.” “What did you say, sir, was the captain’s name?” Mr. Mellaire asked casually. “Somers—old Captain Somers,” Mr. Pike answered. Mr. Mellaire repeated the name aloud several times, and then hazarded: “Didn’t he command the _Lammermoor_ thirty years ago?” “That’s the man.” “I thought I recognized him. I lay at anchor in a ship next to his in Table Bay that time ago.” “Oh, the wickedness of the world, the wickedness of the world,” Mr. Pike muttered as he turned and strode away. I said good-night to the second mate and had started to go below, when he called to me in a low voice, “Mr. Pathurst!” I stopped, and then he said, hurriedly and confusedly: “Never mind, sir . . . I beg your pardon . . . I—I changed my mind.” Below, lying in my bunk, I found myself unable to read. My mind was bent on returning to what had just occurred on deck, and, against my will, the most gruesome speculations kept suggesting themselves. And then came Mr. Mellaire. He had slipped down the booby hatch into the big after-room and thence through the hallway to my room. He entered noiselessly, on clumsy tiptoes, and pressed his finger warningly to his lips. Not until he was beside my bunk did he speak, and then it was in a whisper. “I beg your pardon, sir, Mr. Pathurst . . . I—I beg your pardon; but, you see, sir, I was just passing, and seeing you awake I . . . I thought it would not inconvenience you to . . . you see, I thought I might just as well prefer a small favour . . . seeing that I would not inconvenience you, sir . . . I . . . I . . . ” I waited for him to proceed, and in the pause that ensued, while he licked his dry lips with his tongue, the thing ambushed in his skull peered at me through his eyes and seemed almost on the verge of leaping out and pouncing upon me.