o myself that I had better play anxiety; so, putting the orange
on the table, I followed him into the 'tweendecks, halting at the door,
as though in fear about the satchel's fate. Looking back, he saw me
there. My presence confirmed him in his belief that he had got my
treasure. He waved to me. "Back in a minute," he said. "Stay in the
cabin till I come back. There's a story-book in the locker."

I turned back into the cabin in a halting, irresolute way which no doubt
deceived him as my other movements had deceived him. When I had shut the
door, I went to the locker for the story-book.

Now the story-book, when I found it, was not a story-book, but a little
thick book of Christian sermons by various good bishops. I read one of
them through, to try, but I did not understand it. Then I put the book
down with the sudden thought: "This Captain Barlow cannot read. He
thinks that these sermons are stories. Now who is it in this ship to
whom the letters will be shown? Or can there be no one here? Is he going
to steal the letters to submit them to somebody ashore?"

I was pretty sure that there was somebody shut up in the ship who was
concerned in the theft with Barlow. I cannot tell what made me so sure.
I had deceived the captain so easily that I despised him. I did not give
him credit for any intelligence whatsoever. Perhaps that was the reason.
Then it came over me with a cold wave of dismay that perhaps the woman
Aurelia was on board, hidden somewhere, but active for mischief. I
remembered that scrap of conversation from the inn-balcony. I wondered
if that secret mission mentioned then was to concern me in any way. What
was it, I wondered, that was put into her pocket by her father as she
stood crying there, just above me? If she were on board, then I must
indeed look to myself, for she was probably too cunning a creature to
be deceived by my forgeries. The very thought of having her in the ship
with me was uncomfortable. I felt that I must find some more subtle
hiding-place for my letters than I had found hitherto. I may have
idealized the woman, in my alarm, into a miracle of shrewdness. At
any rate I knew that she would be a much more dangerous opponent than
Captain Barlow, the jocular donkey who allowed himself to be fooled by
a schoolboy who was in his power. I knew, too, that she would probably
search me other letters, whether my ciphered blinds deceived her or not.
She was not one so easily satisfied as a merchant