most excellent cook he was. He had no thought that rose above the preparation of foods. For more than a century his ancestors had all been cooks.
"Follow me," he said briefly.
Jan Breedon made no protest. He felt beaten. He could not have fought against the summons if he had tried.
The Chinaman led the way down to the closed door of a cabin.
"Go in there," he said.
Jan Breedon did so. It was a small cabin, the room such as a captain might occupy on any small ship. On one side there was a bunk. Next to it there was a desk on which lay a few books and some papers. There were also a few chairs and a small table. Beside the table Captain Grandon was sitting. He looked at Jan Breedon coldly. In the center of his forehead there was a small scar such as might have been made by a bullet. Around his neck were several reddish scars that might have come from knife wounds.
"Sit down," he ordered curtly.
Jan Breedon collapsed into a chair. All blood seemed to have drained from his body. The room was strangely cold.
Captain Grandon sat and peered at him, and under the intense glowing hatred of those eyes Jan Breedon felt himself withering. He endured untold agony.
Finally, Captain Grandon spoke. "Twice you have killed me," he said slowly, "but I have no desire to remain dead. You can't kill me and make a success of it, because I will not die. But you are causing me a great deal of bother. I hate these scars."
As he spoke he touched his forehead and his neck.
"They cause men to comment. I hate people to avoid me. That time in Penang when you slit my throat, stories got out about it. Some said I had died and been reincarnated. They were afraid of me. I don't want to walk about the world having people believe that I am a ghost. The first time I did not mind so much. The scar between the eyes was a trivial thing. But after you had killed me the second time I vowed vengeance upon you. That is why you are here. But at heart I am a friendly person. I am offering you a preference in making your exit from this world. For a while I heeded the pleadings of my Chinese crew. They desire to bestow death upon you by ling-chi, which as you know is death by a thousand cuts, death by the slow or slicing process. They are waiting outside that door. If you leave this cabin they will know that that is the death you prefer. However, I am of a far more gentle nature. I believe in death without pain, death from a subtle poison, so that a man may die and suffer little hardship. In other words, a quiet release. On the table before you is a glass of a colorless liquid. It is tasteless. Yet in it there is dissolved death so potent that from it no man can escape. If you drink but a small quantity of that thirst-quenching potion, all the cares and troubles of this world will be gone. The choice is entirely yours. Death with dignity or from ling-chi."
Jan Breedon's face was colorless. He tried to speak, but no sound came. Captain Grandon gazed at him and now he was smiling. Jan Breedon's mouth was so dry, it was hard to believe that he had drunk so much water only a few moments before. And only a short distance away was that glass of poison. How cool and enticing it looked! After all, what had life to offer now? With trembling hand he lifted the glass to his lips and drank half the contents. Yes, it was tasteless. He put the glass back on the table. For a moment at least his thirst was assuaged.
