ecause of the fame of his wealth
merely annoyed him. On the other hand, he had not the smallest
excuse to lock himself up in his stuffy state-room. He enjoyed fresh
air, and had never been sea-sick in his life.

It was just habit--the habit of never letting a chance go, or the
detail of a chance--that on the fourth morning carried him the length
of the liner, to engage in talk with the fresh-coloured young third
officer busy on the high deck forward.

'A young man, exposed as you are, ought to insure himself,' said Mr
Markham.

The third officer--by name Dick Rendal--knew something of the
inquisitiveness and idle ways of passengers. This was his fifth trip
in the _Carnatic_. He took no truck in passengers beyond showing
them the patient politeness enjoined by the Company's rules. He knew
nothing of Mr Markham, who dispensed with the services of a valet and
dressed with a shabbiness only pardonable in the extremely rich.
Mr Markham, 'the Insurance King,' had arrayed himself this morning in
gray flannel, with a reach-me-down overcoat, cloth cap, and carpet
slippers that betrayed his flat, Jewish instep. Dick Rendal sized
him up for an insurance tout; but behaved precisely as he would have
behaved on better information. He refrained from ordering the
intruder aft; but eyed him less than amiably--being young, keen on
his ship, and just now keen on his job.

'I saw you yesterday,' said Mr Markham. (It had blown more than half
a gale, and late in the afternoon three heavy seas had come aboard.
The third officer at this moment was employed with half a dozen
seamen in repairing damages.) 'I was watching. As I judged, it was
the nicest miss you weren't overboard. Over and above employers'
liability you should insure. The Hands Across Mutual Exchange--
that's your office.'

Mr Markham leaned back, and put a hand up to his inner
breast-pocket--it is uncertain whether for his cigar-case, or for
some leaflet relating to the Hands Across.

'Take care, sir!' said the third officer sharply. 'That stanchion--'

He called too late. The hand as it touched the breast-pocket, shot
up and clawed at the air. With a voice that was less a cry than a
startled grunt, Mr Markham pitched backwards off the fore-deck into
the sea.

The third officer stared for just a fraction of a second; ran, seized
a life-belt as the liner's length went shooting past; and hurled it--
with pretty good aim, too--almost before a man of his wor