tain, tall, august, come full-dressed from his cabin.
At his back the second mate, with his oilskin coat over his pajamas,
thrust forward his red, cheerful face.

Slade told the matter briefly. "And it's scared young Conroy all to
bits, sir," he concluded.

"Come for'ard," bade the captain. "Get a lamp, some vun!"

They followed him along the wet, slippery deck slowly, letting him
pass ahead out of earshot.

"It was a belayin'-pin, ye'es?" queried the Greek softly of Conroy.

"He might have hit his head against a pin," replied Conroy.

"Eh?" The Greek stopped. "Might 'ave--might 'ave 'it 'is 'ead? Ah,
dat is fine! 'E might 'ave 'it 'is 'ead, Slade! You 'ear dat?"

"Yes, it ain't bad!" replied Slade, and Conroy, staring in a wild
attempt to see their faces clearly, realized that they were laughing,
laughing silently and heartily. With a gesture of despair he left
them.

A globe-lamp under the forecastle head lighted the captain's
investigations, gleaming on wet oilskins, shadow-pitted faces, and
the curious, remote thing that had been the mate of the Villingen.
Its ampler light revealed much that the match-flame had missed from
its field--the manner in which the sou'wester and the head it covered
were caved in at one side, the cut in the sou'wester through which
clotted hair protruded, the whole ghastliness of death that comes by
violence. With all that under his eyes, Conroy had to give his
account of the affair, while the ring of silent, hard-breathing men
watched him and marvelled at the clumsiness of his story.

"It is strange," said the captain. "Fell over backwards, you said. It
is very strange! And vere did you find de body?"

The scupper and deck had been washed clean by successive seas; there
was no trace there of blood, and none on the rail. Even while they
searched, water spouted down on them. But what Conroy noted was that
no pin stood in the rail where the mate had fallen, and the hole that
might have held one was empty.

"Ah, veil!" said the captain at last. "De poor fellow is dead. I do
not understand, quite, how he should fall like dat, but he is dead.
Four of you get de body aft."

"Please, sir," accosted Conroy, and the tall captain turned.

"Veil, vat is it?"

"Can I go below, sir? It was me that found him, sir. I feel rather--
rather bad."

"So!" The tall captain considered him inscrutably, he, the final
arbiter of fates. "You feel bad--yes? Veil, you can go below!"

The little gr