them: the passengers were beginning to jabber excitedly;
somebody dragged a heavy box past his door. He heard Captain Whalley's
voice above--

"Stations, Mr. Sterne." And the answer from somewhere on deck forward--

"Ay, ay, sir."

"We shall moor head up stream this time; the ebb has made."

"Head up stream, sir."

"You will see to it, Mr. Sterne."

The answer was covered by the autocratic clang on the engine-room
gong. The propeller went on beating slowly: one, two, three; one, two,
three--with pauses as if hesitating on the turn. The gong clanged time
after time, and the water churned this way and that by the blades was
making a great noisy commotion alongside. Mr. Massy did not move. A
shore-light on the other bank, a quarter of a mile across the river,
drifted, no bigger than a tiny star, passing slowly athwart the circle
of the port. Voices from Mr. Van Wyk's jetty answered the hails from the
ship; ropes were thrown and missed and thrown again; the swaying flame
of a torch carried in a large sampan coming to fetch away in state the
Rajah from down the coast cast a sudden ruddy glare into his cabin,
over his very person. Mr. Massy did not move. After a few last ponderous
turns the engines stopped, and the prolonged clanging of the gong
signified that the captain had done with them. A great number of boats
and canoes of all sizes boarded the off-side of the Sofala. Then after
a time the tumult of splashing, of cries, of shuffling feet, of packages
dropped with a thump, the noise of the native passengers going
away, subsided slowly. On the shore, a voice, cultivated, slightly
authoritative, spoke very close alongside--

"Brought any mail for me this time?"

"Yes, Mr. Van Wyk." This was from Sterne, answering over the rail in a
tone of respectful cordiality. "Shall I bring it up to you?"

But the voice asked again--

"Where's the captain?"

"Still on the bridge, I believe. He hasn't left his chair. Shall I . . ."

The voice interrupted negligently.

"I will come on board."

"Mr. Van Wyk," Sterne suddenly broke out with an eager effort, "will you
do me the favor . . ."

The mate walked away quickly towards the gangway. A silence fell. Mr.
Massy in the dark did not move.

He did not move even when he heard slow shuffling footsteps pass his
cabin lazily. He contented himself to bellow out through the closed
door--

"You--Jack!"

The footsteps came back without haste; the door handle rattled, and t