I wished to avoid all communication with my officers, he had the opportunity to address me.
“Seems a very nice man. His boat’s crew told our chaps a very extraordinary story, if what I am told by the steward is true. I suppose you had it from the captain, sir?”
“Yes. I had a story from the captain.”
“A very horrible affair—isn’t it, sir?”
“It is.”
“Beats all these tales we hear about murders in Yankee ships.”
“I don’t think it beats them. I don’t think it resembles them in the least.”
“Bless my soul—you don’t say so! But of course I’ve no acquaintance whatever with American ships, not I, so I couldn’t go against your knowledge. It’s horrible enough for me. . . . But the queerest part is that those fellows seemed to have some idea the man was hidden aboard here. They had really. Did you ever hear of such a thing?”
“Preposterous—isn’t it?”
We were walking to and fro athwart the quarterdeck. No one of the crew forward could be seen (the day was Sunday), and the mate pursued:
“There was some little dispute about it. Our chaps took offence. ‘As if we would harbour a thing like that,’ they said. ‘Wouldn't you like to look for him in our coal-hole?’ Quite a tiff. But they made it up in the end, I suppose he did drown himself. Don’t you, sir?”
“I don’t suppose anything.”
“You have no doubt in the matter, sir?”
