me with a respect for him that partakes half of
timidity and half of awe.

He acts as if he were suffering from concussion of the brain. His pain
is evident, not alone in his eyes and the strained expression of his
face, but by his conduct when he thinks he is unobserved. Last night,
just for a breath of air and a moment's gaze at the stars, I came out of
the cabin door and stood on the main deck under the break of the poop.
From directly over my head came a low and persistent groaning. My
curiosity was aroused, and I retreated into the cabin, came out softly on
to the poop by way of the chart-house, and strolled noiselessly for'ard
in my slippers. It was Mr. Pike. He was leaning collapsed on the rail,
his head resting on his arms. He was giving voice in secret to the pain
that racked him. A dozen feet away he could not be heard. But, close to
his shoulder, I could hear his steady, smothered groaning that seemed to
take the form of a chant. Also, at regular intervals, he would mutter:

"Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, oh dear." Always he repeated the
phrase five times, then returned to his groaning. I stole away as
silently as I had come.

Yet he resolutely stands his watches and performs all his duties of chief
officer. Oh, I forgot. Miss West dared to quiz him, and he replied that
he had a toothache, and that if it didn't get better he'd pull it out.

Wada cannot learn what has happened. There were no eye-witnesses. He
says that the Asiatic clique, discussing the affair in the cook's room,
thinks the three gangsters are responsible. Bert Rhine is carrying a
lame shoulder. Nosey Murphy is limping as from some injury in the hips.
And Kid Twist has been so badly beaten that he has not left his bunk for
two days. And that is all the data to build on. The gangsters are as
close-mouthed as Mr. Pike. The Asiatic clique has decided that murder
was attempted and that all that saved the mate was his hard skull.

Last evening, in the second dog-watch, I got another proof that Captain
West is not so oblivious of what goes on aboard the _Elsinore_ as he
seems. I had gone for'ard along the bridge to the mizzen-mast, in the
shadow of which I was leaning. From the main deck, in the alley-way
between the 'midship-house and the rail, came the voices of Bert Rhine,
Nosey Murphy, and Mr. Mellaire. It was not ship's work. They were
having a friendly, even sociable chat, for their voices hummed genially,
an