Late in the afternoon the Captain reappeared, looking more cheerful. Gissing was still at the helm, which he found so fascinating he would not relinquish it. He had ordered his tea served on a little stand beside the wheel so that he could drink it while he steered. “Hullo!” said the Captain. “I see you've changed the course.” “It seemed best to do so,” said Gissing firmly. He felt that to show any weakness at this point would be fatal. “Oh, well, probably it doesn't matter. I'm coming round to some of your ideas.” Gissing saw that this would never do. Unless he could keep the master disturbed by philosophic doubts, Scottie would expect to resume command of the ship. “Well,” he said, “I've been thinking about it, too. I believe I went a bit too far. But what do you think about this? Do you believe that Conscience is inherited or acquired? You sea how important that is. If Conscience is a kind of automatic oracle, infallible and perfect, what becomes of free will? And if, on the other hand, Conscience is only a laboriously trained perception of moral and social utilities, where does your deity come in?” Gissing was aware that this dilemma would not hold water very long, and was painfully impromptu; but it hit the Captain amidships. “By Jove,” he said, “that's terrible, isn't it? It's no use trying to carry on until I've got that under the hatch. Look here, would you mind, just as a favour, keep things going while I wrestle with that question?--I know it's asking a lot, but perhaps--” “It's quite all right,” Gissing replied. “Naturally you want to work these things out.” The Captain started to leave the bridge, but by old seafaring habit he cast a keen glance at the sky. He saw the bright string of code flags fluttering. He seemed startled. “Are you signalling any one?” he asked. “No one in particular. I thought it looked better to have a few flags about.” “I daresay you're right. But better take them down if you speak a ship. They're rather confusing.” “Confusing? I thought they were just to brighten things up.” “You have two different signals up. They read, Bubonic plague, give me a wide berth. Am coming to your assistance.” Toward dinner time, when Gissing had left the wheel and was humming a tune as he walked the bridge, the steward came to him. “The Captain's compliments, sir, and would you take his place in the saloon to-night? He says he's very busy writing, sir, and would take it as a favour.” Gissing was always obliging. There was just a hint of conscious sternness in his manner as he entered the Pomerania's beautiful dining saloon, for he wished the passengers to realize that their lives depended upon his prudence and sea-lore. Twice during the meal he instructed the steward to bring him the latest barometer reading; and after the dessert he scribbled a note on the back of a menu-card and had it sent to the Chief Engineer. It said:--