"Look as though he'd make a fuss if I sent you and Bill down below to gag him when we get to the other end?" suggested the skipper.

The cook said that judging by appearances "fuss" would be no word for it.

"I can't understand him keeping so quiet," said the skipper; "that's what gets over me."

"He's biding 'is time, I expect," said the cook comfortingly. "He's a 'ard looking customer, 'sides which he's likely sea-sick."

The day pa.s.sed slowly, and as night approached a sense of mystery and discomfort overhung the vessel. The man at the wheel got nervous, and flattered Bill into keeping him company by asking him to spin him a yarn. He had good reason for believing that he knew his comrade's stock of stories by heart, but in the sequel it transpired that there was one, of a prisoner turning into a cat and getting out of the porthole and running up helmsmen's backs, which he hadn't heard before. And he told Bill in the most effective language he could command that he never wanted to hear it again.

The night pa.s.sed and day broke, and still the mysterious pa.s.senger made no sign. The crew got in the habit of listening at the companion and peeping through the skylight; but the door of the stateroom was closed, and the cabin itself as silent as the grave. The skipper went about with a troubled face, and that afternoon, unable to endure the suspense any longer, civilly asked the mate to go below and investigate.

"I'd rather not," said the mate, shrugging his shoulders.

"I'd sooner he served me and have done with it," said the skipper. "I get thinking all sorts of awful things."

"Well, why don't you go down yourself?" said the mate. "He'd serve you fast enough, I've no doubt."

"Well, it may be just his artfulness," said the skipper; "an' I don't want to humour him if he's all right. I'm askin' it as a favour, Bob."

"I'll go if the cook'll come," said the mate after a pause.

The cook hesitated.

"Go on, cook," said the skipper sharply; "don't keep the mate waiting, and, whatever you do, don't let him come up on deck."

The mate led the way to the companion, and, opening it quietly, led the way below, followed by the cook. There was a minute's awful suspense, and then a wild cry rang out below, and the couple came dashing madly up on deck again.

"What is it?" inquired the pallid skipper.

The mate, leaning for support against the wheel, opened his mouth, but no words came; the cook, his hands straight by his side and his eyes gla.s.sy, made a picture from which the crew drew back in awe.

"What's-the-matter?" said the skipper again.

Then the mate, regaining his composure by an effort, spoke.

"You needn't trouble to fasten the companion again," he said slowly.

The skipper's face changed from white to grey. "Why not?" he asked in a trembling voice.

"He's dead," was the solemn reply.

"Nonsense," said the other, with quivering lips. "He's shamming or else fainting. Did you try to bring him round?"

"I did not," said the mate. "I don't deceive you. I didn't stay down there to do no restoring, and I don't think you would either."

"Go down and see whether you can wake him, cook," said the skipper.

"Not me," said the cook with a mighty shudder.

Two of the hands went and peeped furtively down through the skylight.

The empty cabin looked strangely quiet and drear, and the door of the stateroom stood ajar. There was nothing to satisfy their curiosity, but they came back looking as though they had seen a ghost.

"What's to be done?" said the skipper helplessly.

"Nothing can be done," said the mate. "He's beyond our aid."

"I wasn't thinking about him," said the skipper.

"Well, the best thing you can do when we get to Plymouth is to bolt,"

said the mate. "We'll hide it up as long as we can to give you a start It's a hanging matter."

The hapless master of the Fearless wiped his clammy brow. "I can't think he's dead," he said slowly. "Who'll come down with me to see?"

"You'd better leave it alone," said the mate kindly, "it ain't pleasant, and besides that we can all swear up to the present that you haven't touched him or been near him."

"Who'll come down with me?" repeated the skipper. "I believe it's a trick, and that he'll start up and serve me, but I feel I must go."

He caught Bill's eye, and that worthy seaman, after a short tussle with his nerves, shuffled after him. The skipper, brushing aside the mate, who sought to detain him, descended first, and entering the cabin stood hesitating, with Bill close behind him.

"Just open the door, Bill," he said slowly.

"Arter you, sir," said the well-bred Bill.

The skipper stepped slowly towards it and flung it suddenly open. Then he drew back with a sharp cry and looked nervously about him. The bed was empty.

"Where's he gone?" whispered the trembling Bill.

The other made no reply, but in a dazed fashion began to grope about the cabin. It was a small place and soon searched, and the two men sat down and eyed each other in blank amazement.

"Where is he?" said Bill at length.

The skipper shook his head helplessly, and was about to ascribe the mystery to supernatural agencies when the truth in all its naked simplicity flashed upon him and he spoke. "It's the mate," he said slowly, "the mate and the cook. I see it all now; there's never been anybody here. It was a little job on the mate's part to get the ship. If you want to hear a couple o' rascals sized up, Bill, come on deck."

And Bill, grinning in antic.i.p.ation, went.

"CHOICE SPIRITS"

The day was fine, and the breeze so light that the old patched sails were taking the schooner along at a gentle three knots per hour. A sail or two shone like snow in the offing, and a gull hovered in the air astern. From the cabin to the galley, and from the galley to the untidy tangle in the bows, there was no sign of anybody to benefit by the conversation of the skipper and mate as they discussed a wicked and mutinous spirit which had become observable in the crew.

"It's sheer rank wickedness, that's what it is," said the skipper, a small elderly man, with grizzled beard and light blue eyes.

"Rank," agreed the mate, whose temperament was laconic.