We sat down at the table, Riggs at the end in a pivot-chair swung toward the door of the passage.  He took off his glasses and wiped them in an officious manner, and sent Rajah for a pad of paper and a pencil.

“Then this poor Mr. Trego was not a passenger,” said Meeker, leaning his elbows on the table and scanning Riggs closely.

“Gentlemen,” began the captain, clearing his throat and adjusting his silver-rimmed spectacles again, “I am going to hold an inquiry now, and, as witnesses to what takes place, I think you should know the facts in the case, as far as I know them.

“There is something about this business that has carried by with me.  Never had anything like this happen aboard me in the thirty years that I’ve had a command.  First time since I’ve had a master’s ticket that I haven’t had the full confidence of the owners.

“This man Trego was very mysterious, and why he wanted to sail as a passenger when he was supercargo, and keep it from you, gentlemen, is past me.  Perhaps I should not have said anything about this end of it until I have examined his papers, but as witnesses I want you to know the facts as they lay.”

“A most mysterious affair—­most mysterious,” agreed Meeker, shaking his head and fingering his shell crucifix.  “What are the details of the man’s coming aboard, captain?  I am not quite clear on that point.”

“He was down as a passenger, just as you gentlemen are.  I never saw him before until Mr. Harris called me forward before the lines were cast off.  He told me that this man wanted to take charge of lading the last of the cargo—­cargo that was manifested as machinery.  His papers were right, and the messenger from the owners made it all as he said.

“It is not for me to question the acts of the owners, but I should have been advised of the circumstances.  However, Mr. Trego was going to explain.  It may be all right and nothing out of the ordinary, but now that this has happened I’m all back, and I’m left to guess what it all means if I can.”

“What was the cargo?” asked Meeker.

“Machinery, so far as the manifest says.  Several cases—­By George!  He had it stowed in the storeroom—­”

He was interrupted by Harris bawling in the passage, and the Chinese stokers swarming up the fire-room ladder, chattering and yelling to their mates below.  The news of the murder had spread through the ship and had created a great turmoil.

The mate thrust a man into the doorway, whom I recognized as one of the men who had brought Meeker’s organ on board.

“Here’s one of the new men, sir,” said Harris, “Says he has been for’ard since going off watch.  He’s next at the wheel, sir.”

“Now, then,” began Riggs, with pencil poised, “what’s your name in the ship’s articles?”

“Buckrow, sir,” said the sailor, staring at a lamp, and avoiding the figure of Trego almost at his feet.

I observed him closely, and was not pleased with his appearance.  His large mouth carried a leering, insolent expression and his nose was broken, hanging a trifle to one side.  He was short, with great hulking shoulders.  His black shirt was open at the neck, and he wore blue navy trousers with the familiar wide bottoms.  His brown forearms were covered with tattoo-marks.