spotted blue border hung
fashionably from his pocket. And his features had the fine tint and
texture of a manila envelope.

"Absurd, of course. Yet in a case like that one doesn't know how to
avoid the absurd. And finally, when I gave a smart shove, I said:
'Excuse me, Captain, I really must ...' the shoulder disappeared and
there was a most awful clatter and a thud. And then a silence. Frankly I
was unable to open the door for a second, I was so upset. I half
expected the thing to fly open and a crowd of people to rush out on me.
That was the sensation I got from that rumpus. Imagine it!"

"Yes," said Mr. Spokesly, "I can believe you felt strange. But how was
anybody to know?"

"And you still think it was an accident?" said his companion curiously.

"Yes, it was an accident," replied Mr. Spokesly steadily.

"H--m! Well, you knew him."

"I don't believe he had the pluck to do such a thing," went on Mr.
Spokesly. "He hadn't the pluck of a louse, as we say. And you must
remember he was all dressed for going ashore. He had all his money on
him, all his papers. He very likely had his hat on. But for some reason
or other, before he could do anything and speak to anybody, he had to
take some sort of pill. Small, square white tablets. I've known him keep
out of the way, go over the other side of the bridge and turn his back
before speaking to me. I could see his hand go to his mouth as he came
along the deck. I don't know for sure. Nobody will know for sure. But I
know what I think myself."

"Yes? Some private trouble? That's the usual reason, isn't it?"

"He had a grudge against everybody. Thought everybody was against him.
They were, but that was because he hadn't the sense to get on with
them."

"Perhaps it was a woman," suggested his companion hopefully.

"Him! A woman? Do you think a woman would have anything to do with him?"

Mr. Spokesly's tone as he put this question was warm. It was a true
reflection of his present state of mind. "My husband," Evanthia had
said, and it was as her husband he had stepped ashore. And he was
conscious of a glow of pride whenever he compared other men with
himself. She was his. As for the captain, the very idea was grotesque.
He stirred in his chair, moved his arm on the balustrade. He did not
want to talk about the captain. The words, "Perhaps it was a woman," did
not, he felt, apply exactly to any one save himself. He heard his
companion reply doubtfully, as though there cou