into them, and the captain is just the one for that.  Why, sir, he has drilled him so well that now he needs hardly speak at all.  I have seen that little wrinkled ape made to take the ship out of Pangu Bay on a blowy morning and on all through the islands; take her out first-rate, sir, dodging under the old man’s elbow, and in such quiet style that you could not have told for the life of you which of the two was doing the work up there.  That’s where our poor friend would be still of use to the ship even if—­if—­he could no longer lift a foot, sir.  Provided the Serang does not know that there’s anything wrong.”

“He doesn’t.”

“Naturally not.  Quite beyond his apprehension.  They aren’t capable of finding out anything about us, sir.”

“You seem to be a shrewd man,” said Mr. Van Wyk in a choked mutter, as though he were feeling sick.

“You’ll find me a good enough servant, sir.”

Mr. Sterne hoped now for a handshake at least, but unexpectedly, with a “What’s this?  Better not to be seen together,” Mr. Van Wyk’s white shape wavered, and instantly seemed to melt away in the black air under the roof of boughs.  The mate was startled.  Yes.  There was that faint thumping clatter.

He stole out silently from under the shade.  The lighted port-hole shone from afar.  His head swam with the intoxication of sudden success.  What a thing it was to have a gentleman to deal with!  He crept aboard, and there was something weird in the shadowy stretch of empty decks, echoing with shouts and blows proceeding from a darker part amidships.  Mr. Massy was raging before the door of the berth:  the drunken voice within flowed on undisturbed in the violent racket of kicks.

“Shut up!  Put your light out and turn in, you confounded swilling pig—­you!  D’you hear me, you beast?”

The kicking stopped, and in the pause the muzzy oracular voice announced from within—­

“Ah!  Massy, now—­that’s another thing.  Massy’s deep.”

“Who’s that aft there?  You, Sterne?  He’ll drink himself into a fit of horrors.”  The chief engineer appeared vague and big at the corner of the engineroom.

“He will be good enough for duty to-morrow.  I would let him be, Mr. Massy.”

Sterne slipped away into his berth, and at once had to sit down.  His head swam with exultation.  He got into his bunk as if in a dream.  A feeling of profound peace, of pacific joy, came over him.  On deck all was quiet.

Mr. Massy, with his ear against the door of Jack’s cabin, listened critically to a deep stertorous breathing within.  This was a dead-drunk sleep.  The bout was over:  tranquilized on that score, he too went in, and with slow wriggles got out of his old tweed jacket.  It was a garment with many pockets, which he used to put on at odd times of the day, being subject to sudden chilly fits, and when he felt warmed he would take it off and hang it about anywhere all over the ship.  It would be seen