t, and
looked at the tall Professor with a smile that had no mirth in it,
but something like compassion.

"Drop it!" said the Professor again. "Drop it, you fool!" But his
voice of authority cracked, and he cried out: "For God's sake don't
make a mess of it now."

Smith continued to look at him with that ghost of a smile on his
lips, and answered with slow words. He patted the pistol.

"This'll put me out of your reach," he said. "This is what'll do it.
You won't be able to patch up the hole this'll make."

He raised the pistol, Mary, powerless to move clenched her hands and
whole being for the shock of imminent tragedy.

"Wait!" cried the Professor, and cast a furtive deprecating glance
back at Mary. "Wait! I tell you it's no use; you can hurt yourself
and disfigure yourself and weaken and impair your body, but not the
life! Not the life! I tell you--it's no good!" He flung out a long
arm and his great forefinger pointed at Smith imperatively. "I'll
have you back," he said. "I'll have you back. You're mine, my man;
and I'll hold you. Put that pistol down; put it down, I tell you! Or
else----" his arm dropped, and the command failed from his voice. He
spoke in the tones of tired indifference. "Do it," he said. "Shoot
yourself, if you want to. I'll deal with you afterwards."

There was a pause, measured in heart-beats. Smith showed yet his face
of serene gravity. When he spoke, it was strange to hear the voice of
the back-streets, the gutter's phrase, expressing that quiet
assurance.

"If it wasn't you," he said, "it wouldn't be nobody else. It's only
you as can do it." He paused, with lips pursed in deliberation. "If
you knowed what I know," he went on, "you'd see it wasn't right. I
reckon you'll have to come too."

"Eh?" The Professor looked up quickly, and threw up an arm as though
to guard a blow. Mary screamed, and the noise of the shot startled
her from her posture and she fell on her knees. The Professor took
one pace forward, turned sharply, and fell full length on his face.
She heard Smith say something, but the words passed her
undistinguished; then the second shot sounded, and the fire-irons
clattered as he tumbled among them.

Those that ran up to the room upon the sound of the shooting found
her kneeling in the door with her hand over her face.

"Bury them! bury them!" she was crying. "Bury them and let them go!"

XIV

THE CAPTAIN'S ARM

Seafaring men knew it for a chief characteristic