"I know now the meaning of the word `Consternation,'" went on Mr
Powell. "That was exactly my state of mind. I thought to myself
directly: There's nothing in that drink. I have been dreaming, I have
made the awfullest mistake!"

Mr Smith put the glass down. He stood before Powell unharmed, quieted
down, in a listening attitude, his head inclined on one side, chewing
his thin lips. Suddenly he blinked queerly, grabbed Powell's shoulder
and collapsed, subsiding all at once as though he had gone soft all
over, as a piece of silk stuff collapses. Powell seized his arm
instinctively and checked his fall; but as soon as Mr Smith was fairly
on the floor he jerked himself free and backed away. Almost as quick he
rushed forward again and tried to lift up the body. But directly he
raised his shoulders he knew that the man was dead! Dead!

He lowered him down gently. He stood over him without fear or any other
feeling, almost indifferent, far away, as it were. And then he made
another start and, if he had not kept Mrs Anthony always in his mind,
he would have let out a yell for help. He staggered to her cabin door,
and, as it was, his call for "Captain Anthony" burst out of him much too
loud; but he made a great effort of self-control. "I am waiting for my
orders, sir," he said outside that door distinctly, in a steady tone.

It was very still in there; still as death. Then he heard a shuffle of
feet and the captain's voice "All right. Coming." He leaned his back
against the bulkhead as you see a drunken man sometimes propped up
against a wall, half doubled up. In that attitude the captain found
him, when he came out, pulling the door to after him quickly. At once
Anthony let his eyes run all over the cabin. Powell, without a word,
clutched his forearm, led him round the end of the table and began to
justify himself. "I couldn't stop him," he whispered shakily. "He was
too quick for me. He drank it up and fell down." But the captain was
not listening. He was looking down at Mr Smith, thinking perhaps that
it was a mere chance his own body was not lying there. They did not
want to speak. They made signs to each other with their eyes. The
captain grasped Powell's shoulder as if in a vice and glanced at Mrs
Anthony's cabin door, and it was enough. He knew that the young man
understood him. Rather! Silence! Silence for ever about this. Their
very glances became stealthy. Powell looked from the body