ll glow of red where a meagre lamp was hung,
and he heard the hoarse voice of a man calling out to some one across
the river. As if in answer, the rattle of a chain came from the deck
of some unseen craft, like a lonely felon in a floating prison.

The river's mood was so in keeping with his own that Selwyn's senses
experienced a numbing pleasure; the ghostly mariners of the night, the
motionless ships at their moorings, the eerie hissing of the sleet upon
the water, combined to form a drug that left his eyelids heavy with
drowsy contentment.

How long he had remained there he could not have stated, when from the
steps beneath him, leading towards the water, he heard a man's slovenly
voice.

'Are you going to stay the night here?'

As apparently the remark was intended for him, Selwyn leaned forward
and peered in the direction from which the voice had come. At the foot
of the dripping steps he could just make out a huddled figure.

'If you're putting up here,' went on the speaker, 'we had better pool
resources. I've got a cape, and if you have a coat we can make a
decent shift of it. Two sleep warmer than one on a night like this.'

In spite of the sluggish manner of speech, Selwyn could detect a faint
intonation which bespoke a man of breeding. He tried to discern the
features, but they were completely hidden beneath the pall of night.

'Well,' said the voice, 'are you deaf?'

'I am not staying here for the night,' answered Selwyn.

'Then why the devil didn't you say that before?' For a moment the
fellow's voice was energised by a touch of brusqueness, but before the
last words were finished it had lapsed into the dull heaviness of
physical lethargy. 'Tell me,' said the stranger, after a silence of
several minutes, 'how is the war going on?'

'You probably know as much as I.'

'Not likely. I've been beating back from China for three months in a
more or less derelict tramp. Chased into every blessed little port,
losing our way, and cruising for days without water--we were a fine
family of blackguards, and no mistake. Grog could be had for the
asking, and a scrap for less than that; but I'd as lief not ship on the
_Nancy Hawkins_ again.'

Selwyn leaned back against the obelisk and speculated idly on the
strange personality hidden in the dark recess of the descending stairs.
It was not difficult to tell that, though he spoke of himself as a
sailor, sailoring was not his calling. There was a subtle