The Second Mate muttered something, and told him to go down into the saloon to see whether the First and Third Mates, by any chance, were not in their berths.

Tammy started off; then halted.

“Shall I have a look into the Old Man’s place, Sir, while I’m down there?” he inquired.

“No!” said the Second Mate.  “Do what I told you, and then come and tell me.  If anyone’s to go into the Captain’s cabin, it’s got to be me.”

Tammy said “i, i, Sir,” and skipped away, up on to the poop.

While he was gone, the other ’prentice came up to say that the Steward was in his berth, and that he wanted to know what the hell he was fooling round his part of the ship for.

The Second Mate said nothing, for nearly a minute.  Then he turned to us, and told us we might go forrard.

As we moved off in a body, and talking in undertones, Tammy came down from the poop, and went up to the Second Mate.  I heard him say that the two Mates were in their berths, asleep.  Then he added, as if it were an afterthought—­

“So’s the Old Man.”

“I thought I told you—­” the Second Mate began.

“I didn’t, Sir,” Tammy said.  “His cabin door was open.”

The Second Mate started to go aft.  I caught a fragment of a remark he was making to Tammy.

“—­accounted for the whole crew.  I’m—­”

He went up on to the poop.  I did not catch the rest.

I had loitered a moment; now, however, I hurried after the others.  As we neared the fo’cas’le, one bell went, and we roused out the other watch, and told them what jinks we had been up to.

“I rec’on ’e must be rocky,” one of the men remarked.

“Not ’im,” said another, “’e’s bin ‘avin’ forty winks on the break, an’ dreemed ’is mother-en-lore ’ad come on ’er visit, friendly like.”

There was some laughter at this suggestion, and I caught myself smiling along with the rest; though I had no reason for sharing their belief, that there was nothing in it all.

“Might ’ave been a stowaway, yer know,” I heard Quoin, the one who had suggested it before, remark to one of the A.B’s named Stubbins—­a short, rather surly-looking chap.

“Might have been hell!” returned Stubbins.  “Stowaways hain’t such fools as all that.”

“I dunno,” said the first.  “I wish I ’ad arsked the Second what ’e thought about it.”

“I don’t think it was a stowaway, somehow,” I said, chipping in.  “What would a stowaway want aloft?  I guess he’d be trying more for the Steward’s pantry.”

“You bet he would, hevry time,” said Stubbins.  He lit his pipe, and sucked at it, slowly.

“I don’t hunderstand it, all ther same,” he remarked, after a moment’s silence.

“Neither do I,” I said.  And after that I was quiet for a while, listening to the run of conversation on the subject.

Presently, my glance fell upon Williams, the man who had spoken to me about “shadders.”  He was sitting in his bunk, smoking, and making no effort to join in the talk.