probably hardly aware of just what he said
to me under a little artful questioning. It seems that a lady who--shall
we say, whom we both have the honor of knowing?--is in love. Love, mark
you. It is always interesting to see that flower bud twice from the same
stalk. However, one naturally defers to a lady, especially when one is
very much in her way. _Place aux dames_, eh? Exit poor Farquharson! You
must admit that his was an altruistic soul. Well, she has her
freedom--if only to barter it for a new bondage. Shall we drink to the
happy future of that romance?"

He lifted to me his glass with ironical invitation, while I sat aghast
and speechless, my heart pounding against my ribs. This intolerable
colloquy could not last forever. I deliberated what I should do if we
were surprised. At the sound of a footfall or the soft creak of a plank
I felt that I might lose all control and leap up and brain him with the
heavy bottle in my grasp. I had an insane desire to spring at his throat
and throttle his infamous bravado, tumble him overboard and annihilate
the last vestige of his existence.

"Come, Captain," he urged, "you, too, have shared in smoothing the path
for these lovers. Shall we not drink to their happy union?"

A feeling of utter loathing went over me. I set my glass down. "It would
be a more serviceable compliment to the lady in question if I strangled
you on the spot," I muttered, boldly.

"But you are forgetting that I am already dead." He threw his head back
as if vastly amused, then lurched forward and held out his glass a
little unsteadily to be refilled.

He gave me a quick, evil look. "Besides, the noise might disturb your
passengers."

I could feel a cold perspiration suddenly breaking out upon my body.
Either the fellow had obtained an inkling of the truth in some
incredible way, or was blindly on the track of it, guided by some
diabolical scent. Under the spell of his eyes I could not manage the
outright lie which stuck in my throat.

"What makes you think I have passengers?" I parried, weakly.

With intent or not, he was again fingering the fringe of the scarf that
hung over the arm of the chair.

"It is not your usual practice, but you have been carrying them lately."

He drained his glass and sat staring into it, his head drooping a little
forward. The heavy wine was beginning to have its effect upon him, but
whether it would provoke him to some outright violence or drag him down
into a st