On opening the door I had a back view of my very own self looking at a chart.  He had come out of the recess and was standing near the table.

“Quite dark enough,” I whispered.

He stepped back and leaned against my bed with a level, quiet glance.  I sat on the couch.  We had nothing to say to each other.  Over our heads the officer of the watch moved here and there.  Then I heard him move quickly.  I knew what that meant.  He was making for the companion; and presently his voice was outside my door.

“We are drawing in pretty fast, sir.  Land looks rather close.”

“Very well,” I answered.  “I am coming on deck directly.”

I waited till he was gone out of the cuddy, then rose.  My double moved too.  The time had come to exchange our last whispers, for neither of us was ever to hear each other’s natural voice.

“Look here!” I opened a drawer and took out three sovereigns.  “Take this, anyhow.  I’ve got six and I’d give you the lot, only I must keep a little money to buy some fruit and vegetables for the crew from native boats as we go through Sunda Straits.”

He shook his head.

“Take it,” I urged him, whispering desperately.  “No one can tell what—­”

He smiled and slapped meaningly the only pocket of the sleeping-jacket.  It was not safe, certainly.  But I produced a large old silk handkerchief of mine, and tying the three pieces of gold in a corner, pressed it on him.  He was touched, I suppose, because he took it at last and tied it quickly round his waist under the jacket, on his bare skin.

Our eyes met; several seconds elapsed, till, our glances still mingled, I extended my hand and turned the lamp out.  Then I passed through the cuddy, leaving the door of my room wide open. . . . .  “Steward!”

He was still lingering in the pantry in the greatness of his zeal, giving a rub-up to a plated cruet stand the last thing before going to bed.  Being careful not to wake up the mate, whose room was opposite, I spoke in an undertone.

He looked round anxiously.  “Sir!”

“Can you get me a little hot water from the galley?”

“I am afraid, sir, the galley fire’s been out for some time now.”

“Go and see.”

He fled up the stairs.

“Now,” I whispered, loudly, into the saloon—­too loudly, perhaps, but I was afraid I couldn’t make a sound.  He was by my side in an instant—­the double captain slipped past the stairs—­through a tiny dark passage . . . a sliding door.  We were in the sail-locker, scrambling on our knees over the sails.  A sudden thought struck me.  I saw myself wandering barefooted, bareheaded, the sun beating on my dark poll.  I snatched off my floppy hat and tried hurriedly in the dark to ram it on my other self.  He dodged and fended off silently.  I wonder what he thought had come to me before he understood and suddenly desisted.  Our hands met gropingly, lingered united in a steady, motionless clasp for a second. . . .  No word was breathed by either of us when they separated.