Sterne, holding the door open with one hand, had thrust in his head and shoulders.  At this amazing intrusion Massy, who was doing absolutely nothing, jumped up speechless.

“Don’t call names,” murmured Sterne hurriedly.  “I won’t be called names.  I think of nothing but your good, Mr. Massy.”

A pause as of extreme astonishment followed.  They both seemed to have lost their tongues.  Then the mate went on with a discreet glibness.

“You simply couldn’t conceive what’s going on on board your ship.  It wouldn’t enter your head for a moment.  You are too good—­too—­too upright, Mr. Massy, to suspect anybody of such a . . .  It’s enough to make your hair stand on end.”

He watched for the effect:  Massy seemed dazed, uncomprehending.  He only passed the palm of his hand on the coal-black wisps plastered across the top of his head.  In a tone suddenly changed to confidential audacity Sterne hastened on.

“Remember that there’s only six weeks left to run . . .”  The other was looking at him stonily . . . “so anyhow you shall require a captain for the ship before long.”

Then only, as if that suggestion had scarified his flesh in the manner of red-hot iron, Massy gave a start and seemed ready to shriek.  He contained himself by a great effort.

“Require a captain,” he repeated with scathing slowness.  “Who requires a captain?  You dare to tell me that I need any of you humbugging sailors to run my ship.  You and your likes have been fattening on me for years.  It would have hurt me less to throw my money overboard.  Pam—­pe—­red us—­e—­less f-f-f-frauds.  The old ship knows as much as the best of you.”  He snapped his teeth audibly and growled through them, “The silly law requires a captain.”

Sterne had taken heart of grace meantime.

“And the silly insurance people too, as well,” he said lightly.  “But never mind that.  What I want to ask is:  Why shouldn’t I do, sir?  I don’t say but you could take a steamer about the world as well as any of us sailors.  I don’t pretend to tell you that it is a very great trick . . .”  He emitted a short, hollow guffaw, familiarly . . .  “I didn’t make the law—­but there it is; and I am an active young fellow!  I quite hold with your ideas; I know your ways by this time, Mr. Massy.  I wouldn’t try to give myself airs like that—­that—­er lazy specimen of an old man up there.”

He put a marked emphasis on the last sentence, to lead Massy away from the track in case . . . but he did not doubt of now holding his success.  The chief engineer seemed nonplused, like a slow man invited to catch hold of a whirligig of some sort.

“What you want, sir, is a chap with no nonsense about him, who would be content to be your sailing-master.  Quite right, too.  Well, I am fit for the work as much as that Serang.  Because that’s what it amounts to.  Do you know, sir, that a dam’ Malay like a monkey is in charge of your ship—­and no one else.  Just listen to his feet pit-patting above us on the bridge—­real officer in charge.  He’s taking her up the river while the great man is wallowing in the chair—­perhaps asleep; and if he is, that would not make it much worse either—­take my word for it.”