ely lighted, and used for the storing
of nautical objects; a shabby steering-wheel, a battered brass binnacle
on a stout mahogany stand, two dingy life-buoys, an old cork fender
lying in a corner, dilapidated deck-lockers with loops of thin rope
instead of door-handles.

He shook off the appearance of numbness to return Mr. Van Wyk's
unusually brisk greeting, but relapsed directly afterwards. To accept
a pressing invitation to dinner "up at the house" cost him another very
visible physical effort. Mr. Van Wyk, perplexed, folded his arms, and
leaning back against the rail, with his little, black, shiny feet well
out, examined him covertly.

"I've noticed of late that you are not quite yourself, old friend."

He put an affectionate gentleness into the last two words. The real
intimacy of their intercourse had never been so vividly expressed
before.

"Tut, tut, tut!"

The wicker-chair creaked heavily.

"Irritable," commented Mr. Van Wyk to himself; and aloud, "I'll expect
to see you in half an hour, then," he said negligently, moving off.

"In half an hour," Captain Whalley's rigid silvery head repeated behind
him as if out of a trance.

Amidships, below, two voices, close against the engineroom, could be
heard answering each other--one angry and slow, the other alert.

"I tell you the beast has locked himself in to get drunk."

"Can't help it now, Mr. Massy. After all, a man has a right to shut
himself up in his cabin in his own time."

"Not to get drunk."

"I heard him swear that the worry with the boilers was enough to drive
any man to drink," Sterne said maliciously.

Massy hissed out something about bursting the door in. Mr. Van Wyk, to
avoid them, crossed in the dark to the other side of the deserted deck.
The planking of the little wharf rattled faintly under his hasty feet.

"Mr. Van Wyk! Mr. Van Wyk!"

He walked on: somebody was running on the path. "You've forgotten to get
your mail."

Sterne, holding a bundle of papers in his hand, caught up with him.

"Oh, thanks."

But, as the other continued at his elbow, Mr. Van Wyk stopped short.
The overhanging eaves, descending low upon the lighted front of the
bungalow, threw their black straight-edged shadow into the great body of
the night on that side. Everything was very still. A tinkle of cutlery
and a slight jingle of glasses were heard. Mr. Van Wyk's servants were
laying the table for two on the veranda.

"I'm afraid you give me no credit