alert when engaged in wrong-doing (in which one
mustn't be found out) than in a righteous occupation.

He became suspicious, with no one and nothing definite in his mind. He
was suspicious of the curtain itself and observed it. It looked very
innocent. Then just as he was ready to put it down to a trick of
imagination he saw trembling movements where the two curtains joined.
Yes! Somebody else besides himself had been watching Captain Anthony.
He owns artlessly that this roused his indignation. It was really too
much of a good thing. In this state of intense antagonism he was
startled to observe tips of fingers fumbling with the dark stuff. Then
they grasped the edge of the further curtain and hung on there, just
fingers and knuckles and nothing else. It made an abominable sight. He
was looking at it with unaccountable repulsion when a hand came into
view; a short, puffy, old, freckled hand projecting into the lamplight,
followed by a white wrist, an arm in a grey coat-sleeve, up to the
elbow, beyond the elbow, extended tremblingly towards the tray. Its
appearance was weird and nauseous, fantastic and silly. But instead of
grabbing the bottle as Powell expected, this hand, tremulous with senile
eagerness, swerved to the glass, rested on its edge for a moment (or so
it looked from above) and went back with a jerk. The gripping fingers
of the other hand vanished at the same time, and young Powell staring at
the motionless curtains could indulge for a moment the notion that he
had been dreaming.

But that notion did not last long. Powell, after repressing his first
impulse to spring for the companion and hammer at the captain's door,
took steps to have himself relieved by the boatswain. He was in a state
of distraction as to his feelings and yet lucid as to his mind. He
remained on the skylight so as to keep his eye on the tray.

Still the captain did not appear in the saloon. "If he had," said Mr
Powell, "I knew what to do. I would have put my elbow through the pane
instantly--crash."

I asked him why?

"It was the quickest dodge for getting him away from that tray," he
explained. "My throat was so dry that I didn't know if I could shout
loud enough. And this was not a case for shouting, either."

The boatswain, sleepy and disgusted, arriving on the poop, found the
second officer doubled up over the end of the skylight in a pose which
might have been that of severe pain. And his voice was so cha