“I don’t see how it could be done, “replied the captain, pondering; “a promise is a promise.”

Mr. Chalk’s face fell.  He moved his chair aside mechanically to make room for Mr. Tasker, who had entered with a tray and glasses, and sat staring at the floor.  Then he raised his eyes and met a significant glance from Mr. Stobell.

“I suppose we may have another look at the map?” he said, softly; “just a glance to freshen our memories.”

The captain, who had drawn his chair to the table to preside over the tray, looked up impatiently.

“No,” he said, brusquely.

Mr. Chalk looked hurt.  “I’m very sorry,” he said, in surprise at the captain’s tone.  “You showed it to us the other day, and I didn’t think—­”

“The fact is,” said the captain, in a more gentle voice—­“the fact is, I can’t.”

“Can’t?” repeated the other.

“It is not very pleasant to keep on refusing friends,” said the captain, making amends for his harshness by pouring a serious overdose of whisky into Mr. Chalk’s glass, “and it’s only natural for you to be anxious about it, so I removed the temptation out of my way.”

“Removed the temptation?” repeated Mr. Chalk.

“I burnt the map,” said the captain, with a smile.

“Burnt it?” gasped Mr. Chalk.  “Burnt it?”

“Burnt it to ashes,” said the captain, jovially.

“It’s a load off my mind.  I ought to have done it before.  In fact, I never ought to have made the map at all.”

Mr. Chalk stared at him in speechless dismay.

“Try that,” said the captain, handing Mr. Stobell his glass.

Mr. Stobell took it from mere force of habit, and sat holding it in his hand as though he had forgotten what to do with it.

“I did it yesterday morning,” said the captain, noticing their consternation.  “I had just lit my pipe after breakfast, and I suppose the match put me in mind of it.  I took out the map and set light to it at Cape Silvio.  The flame ran half-way round the coast and then popped through the middle of the paper and converted Mount Lonesome into a volcano.”

He gave a boisterous laugh and, raising his glass, nodded to Mr. Stobell.  Mr. Stobell, who was just about to drink, lowered his glass again and frowned.

“I don’t see anything to laugh at,” he said, deliberately.

“He can’t have been listening,” said Mr. Tredgold, in a low voice, to Miss Drewitt.

“Well, it’s done now,” said the captain, genially.  “You—­you’re not going?”

“Yes, I am,” said Mr. Stobell.

He bade them good-night, and then pausing at the door stood and surveyed them; even Mr. Tasker, who was gliding in unobtrusively with a jug of water, shared in his regards.

“When I think of the orphans and widows,” he said, bitterly, “I——­”

He opened the door suddenly and, closing it behind him, breathed the rest to Dialstone Lane.  An aged woman sitting in a doorway said, “Hush!”