h the exception of firemen and engineers, rushed up
the jetty, past the thoughtful Almayer, and vanished from my sight. The
white fog swallowed them up; and again there was a deep silence that
seemed to extend for miles up and down the stream. Still taciturn,
Almayer started to climb on board, and I went down from the bridge to
meet him on the after-deck.

"Would you mind telling the captain that I want to see him very
particularly?" he asked me, in a low tone, letting his eyes stray all
over the place.

"Very well. I will go and see."

With the door of his cabin wide open, Captain C----, just back from
the bath-room, big and broad-chested, was brushing his thick, damp,
iron-gray hair with two large brushes.

"Mr. Almayer told me he wanted to see you very particularly, sir."

Saying these words, I smiled. I don't know why I smiled, except that it
seemed absolutely impossible to mention Almayer's name without a smile
of a sort. It had not to be necessarily a mirthful smile. Turning his
head toward me, Captain C---- smiled, too, rather joylessly.

"The pony got away from him--eh?"

"Yes, sir. He did."

"Where is he?"

"Goodness only knows."

"No. I mean Almayer. Let him come along."

The captain's stateroom opening straight on deck under the bridge, I had
only to beckon from the doorway to Almayer, who had remained aft, with
downcast eyes, on the very spot where I had left him. He strolled up
moodily, shook hands, and at once asked permission to shut the cabin
door.

"I have a pretty story to tell you," were the last words I heard.

The bitterness of tone was remarkable.

I went away from the door, of course. For the moment I had no crew on
board; only the Chinaman carpenter, with a canvas bag hung round his
neck and a hammer in his hand, roamed about the empty decks,
knocking out the wedges of the hatches and dropping them into the bag
conscientiously. Having nothing to do I joined our two engineers at the
door of the engine-room. It was near breakfast-time.

"He's turned up early, hasn't he?" commented the second engineer, and
smiled indifferently. He was an abstemious man, with a good digestion
and a placid, reasonable view of life even when hungry.

"Yes," I said. "Shut up with the old man. Some very particular
business."

"He will spin him a damned endless yarn," observed the chief engineer.

He smiled rather sourly. He was dyspeptic, and suffered from gnawing
hunger in the morning. The second