He was bending over his papers at the table; Conroy smiled over his bowed head.  Returning on deck, he winked to the man at the wheel, who smiled uncomfortably in return.  Later he borrowed a knife to scrape some spots of paint off the deck; he did not want to spoil the edge of his own.

They buried the mate at eight bells; the weather was thickening, and it might be well to have the thing done.  The hands stood around, bareheaded, with the grating in the middle of them, one edge resting on the rail, the other supported by two men.  There was a dark smudge on the sky up to windward, and several times the captain glanced up from his book towards it.  He read in German slowly, with a dwelling upon the sonorous passages, and towards the end he closed the book and finished without its aid.

Conroy was at the foot of the ladder; the captain was above him, reading mournfully, solemnly, without looking at the men.  They were rigid, only their eyes moving.  Conroy collected their glances irresistibly.  When the captain had finished his reading he sighed and made a sign, lifting his hand like a man who resigns himself.  The men holding the grating tilted it; the mate of the Villingen, with a little jerk, went over the side.

“Shtand by der tobs’l halliards!” roared the second mate.

Conroy, in the flurry, found himself next to a man of his watch.  He jerked a thumb in the direction of the second mate, who was still vociferating orders.

“Hark at him!” he said.  “Before we’re through I’ll teach him manners too.”

And he patted his knife.

V

THE VICTIM

Cobb was crossing the boulevard, and was actually evading a taxi-cab at the moment when he sighted the little comedy which he made haste to interrupt.  Upon the further pavement, Savinien, whom he once believed in as a poet, had stopped in the shelter of a shop door, an unlighted cigarette between his lips, and was prospecting his vast person with gentle little slaps for a match.  The current of the pavement rippled by him; the great expanse of his back was half turned to it, so that he and his search were in a kind of privacy, and the situation was favorable to the two inconspicuous men who approached him from either side.  The one, with an air of hurry, ran against him at the instant, when he was exploring his upper waistcoat pocket, staggered and caught at him with mumbled apologies; the other, with the sure and suave movement of an expert, slid an arm between the two bodies, withdrew it, and was making off.

“Hi!” shouted Cobb, as the taxi shaved past him, and came across with a rush.  People stopped to see what he was shouting at, and a group of them, momentarily blocking the pavement, made it easy for the lanky Cobb to bowl the fleeing pickpocket against the wall and lay secure hands on him.

“You come along with me,” said Cobb, who always forgot his French when he was excited.