t portion of my story which fills me even now with
a shuddering horror when I think of it. The main cabin had the rooms of
the officers round it, but mine was the farthest away from it at the end
of the little passage which led to the companion. No regular watch was
kept by me, except in cases of emergency, and the three mates divided
the watches among them. Armstrong had the middle watch, which ends at
four in the morning, and he was relieved by Allardyce. For my part I
have always been one of the soundest of sleepers, and it is rare for
anything less than a hand upon my shoulder to arouse me.

And yet I was aroused that night, or rather in the early grey of the
morning. It was just half-past four by my chronometer when something
caused me to sit up in my berth wide awake and with every nerve
tingling. It was a sound of some sort, a crash with a human cry at the
end of it, which still jarred on my ears. I sat listening, but all was
now silent. And yet it could not have been imagination, that hideous
cry, for the echo of it still rang in my head, and it seemed to have
come from some place quite close to me. I sprang from my bunk, and,
pulling on some clothes, I made my way into the cabin. At first I saw
nothing unusual there. In the cold, grey light I made out the
red-clothed table, the six rotating chairs, the walnut lockers, the
swinging barometer, and there, at the end, the big striped chest. I was
turning away, with the intention of going upon deck and asking the
second mate if he had heard anything, when my eyes fell suddenly upon
something which projected from under the table. It was the leg of a
man--a leg with a long sea-boot upon it. I stooped, and there was a
figure sprawling upon his face, his arms thrown forward and his body
twisted. One glance told me that it was Armstrong, the first officer,
and a second that he was a dead man. For a few moments I stood gasping.
Then I rushed on to the deck, called Allardyce to my assistance, and
came back with him into the cabin.

Together we pulled the unfortunate fellow from under the table, and as
we looked at his dripping head we exchanged glances, and I do not know
which was the paler of the two.

"The same as the Spanish sailor," said I.

"The very same. God preserve us! It's that infernal chest! Look at
Armstrong's hand!"

He held up the mate's right hand, and there was the screwdriver which he
had wished to use the night before.

"He's be