"'Fraid he's done in," he answered. "When the ship disappeared he was with me on the bridge. I never set eyes on him after that." "Rough luck," murmured Preston. "His last voyage before he went on the beach with a pension. Sound old chap too, although hard to get on with at times." "One of the best," declared Mostyn. There was silence for a few moments. "Mostyn, old son," exclaimed Preston. "How about a cigarette?" "Wish I could oblige you," replied Peter; "but there isn't a shred of tobacco in the boat. I had my case full in the wireless-room when she sank--a silver presentation case--and I quite forgot to ram it into my pocket." The Acting Chief smiled wanly, and immediately regretted having done so. It was a painful process, with one side of his face battered. "You ought to have known better than that," he remarked reprovingly. "Especially as you've been through much the same sort of thing before. Tobacco takes the edge off a fellow's hunger. I suppose your case was watertight?" "I think so," replied Peter. "But since I haven't got it I don't see that it matters." "Mostyn, dear old thing, you don't deserve pity," said Preston. "Just feel in the inside pocket of my coat. Luckily I haven't been in the ditch." Peter did as requested, and drew out a cardboard box containing nearly a hundred Virginias. "Lifted 'em from the Chief Steward's cabin," explained the Acting Chief. "They would have gone to Davy Jones if I hadn't. Take charge of them, old man. They'll last the pair of us for a fortnight, and by that time----" "How about the lascars?" asked Pater. "Mohammedans," rejoined Preston briefly. "They aren't allowed to smoke. At least," he added, "I don't think they do. Of course, they'll come in if they want any. We'll see. Light up for me, old fellow." "We collared a box of matches from you," said Peter. "These are all we have on board. They are yours, of course, but----" "Do they strike?" asked the Acting Chief. "I've had them for at least a twelvemonth. Sort of emergency issue, don't you know. Try my pockets, old son. I've a lighter somewhere, I'll stake my affidavit on that---- Gently, old man!" "Sorry," exclaimed the Wireless Officer. "By Jove, Preston, you are a marvel." "Rot!" ejaculated the other in self-depreciation. "Merely a case of looking after one's own interests." Placing the end of a cigarette between Preston's lips Peter lit it. The Acting Chief grunted contentedly. "There's a box of Turkish delight in my pocket," he continued. "Take it and hand it to the womenfolk. All the joy hasn't gone out of life yet, Sparks. Light up and get happy." Mostyn did so. Never before had he so appreciated the soothing effect of a cigarette. In this complaisant state of mind he was addressed by the lascar at the helm. "Mahometan smoke, Sahib; Sikh, Mahometan, too: him not smoke." Which resulted in the tip of another cigarette glowing in the darkness.