n's utter absorption in it.
Jorgenson had before him, stretched on the deck, several bits of rather
thin and dirty-looking rope of different lengths from a couple of inches
to about a foot. He had (an idiot might have amused himself in that
way) set fire to the ends of them. They smouldered with amazing energy,
emitting now and then a splutter, and in the calm air within the
bulwarks sent up very slender, exactly parallel threads of smoke,
each with a vanishing curl at the end; and the absorption with which
Jorgenson gave himself up to that pastime was enough to shake all
confidence in his sanity.

In one half-opened hand he was holding the watch. He was also provided
with a scrap of paper and the stump of a pencil. Mrs. Travers was
confident that he did not either hear or see her.

"Captain Jorgenson, you no doubt think. . . ."

He tried to wave her away with the stump of the pencil. He did not want
to be interrupted in his strange occupation. He was playing very gravely
indeed with those bits of string. "I lighted them all together," he
murmured, keeping one eye on the dial of the watch. Just then the
shortest piece of string went out, utterly consumed. Jorgenson made
a hasty note and remained still while Mrs. Travers looked at him with
stony eyes thinking that nothing in the world was any use. The other
threads of smoke went on vanishing in spirals before the attentive
Jorgenson.

"What are you doing?" asked Mrs. Travers, drearily.

"Timing match . . . precaution. . . ."

He had never in Mrs. Travers' experience been less spectral than then.
He displayed a weakness of the flesh. He was impatient at her intrusion.
He divided his attention between the threads of smoke and the face of
the watch with such interest that the sudden reports of several guns
breaking for the first time for days the stillness of the lagoon and the
illusion of the painted scene failed to make him raise his head. He only
jerked it sideways a little. Mrs. Travers stared at the wisps of
white vapour floating above Belarab's stockade. The series of sharp
detonations ceased and their combined echoes came back over the lagoon
like a long-drawn and rushing sigh.

"What's this?" cried Mrs. Travers.

"Belarab's come home," said Jorgenson.

The last thread of smoke disappeared and Jorgenson got up. He had lost
all interest in the watch and thrust it carelessly into his pocket,
together with the bit of paper and the stump of pencil. He had resu