t there occurred the first of the
mysterious events that rid us at last of the captain, though not, as you
will see, of his affairs. It was a bitter cold winter, with long, hard
frosts and heavy gales; and it was plain from the first that my poor
father was little likely to see the spring. He sank daily, and my mother
and I had all the inn upon our hands, and were kept busy enough without
paying much regard to our unpleasant guest.

It was one January morning, very early--a pinching, frosty morning--the
cove all gray with hoar-frost, the ripple lapping softly on the stones,
the sun still low, and only touching the hill-tops and shining far to
seaward. The captain had risen earlier than usual, and set out down the
beach, his cutlass swinging under the broad skirts of the old blue coat,
his brass telescope under his arm, his hat tilted back upon his head. I
remember his breath hanging like smoke in his wake as he strode off, and
the last sound I heard of him, as he turned the big rock, was a loud
snort of indignation, as though his mind was still running upon Doctor
Livesey.

Well, mother was upstairs with father, and I was laying the breakfast
table against the captain's return, when the parlor door opened and a
man stepped in on whom I had never set my eyes before. He was a pale,
tallowy creature, wanting two fingers of the left hand; and, though he
wore a cutlass, he did not look much like a fighter. I had always my
eyes open for seafaring men, with one leg or two, and I remember this
one puzzled me. He was not sailorly, and yet he had a smack of the sea
about him too.

I asked him what was for his service, and he said he would take rum, but
as I was going out of the room to fetch it he sat down upon a table and
motioned to me to draw near. I paused where I was, with my napkin in my
hand.

"Come here, sonny," said he. "Come nearer here."

I took a step nearer.

"Is this here table for my mate Bill?" he asked, with a kind of leer.

I told him I did not know his mate Bill, and this was for a person who
stayed at our house, whom we called the captain.

"Well," said he, "my mate Bill would be called the captain, as like as
not. He has a cut on one cheek, and a mighty pleasant way with him,
particularly in drink, has my mate Bill. We'll put it, for argument
like, that your captain has a cut on one cheek--and we'll put it, if you
like, that that cheek's the right one. Ah, well! I told you. Now, is my
mate Bill in t