might happen.'
'He is a man,' said Lingard with conviction. 'But it's of the other that I am thinking.'
'Ah, the other,' she repeated. 'Then, what about my thoughts? Luckily we have Mr. d'Alcacer. I shall speak to him first.'
She turned away from the rail and moved toward the Cage.
'Jorgenson,' the voice of Lingard resounded all along the deck, 'get a light on the gangway.' Then he followed Mrs. Travers slowly.
VI
D'Alcacer, after receiving his warning, stepped back and leaned against the edge of the table. He could not ignore in himself a certain emotion. And indeed, when he had asked Mrs. Travers for a sign he expected to be moved—but he had not expected the sign to come so soon. He expected this night to pass like other nights, in broken slumbers, bodily discomfort, and the unrest of disconnected thinking. At the same time he was surprised at his own emotion. He had flattered himself on the possession of more philosophy. He thought that this famous sense of self-preservation was a queer thing, a purely animal thing. 'For, as a thinking man,' he reflected, 'I really ought not to care.' It was probably the unusual that affected him. Clearly. If he had been lying seriously ill in a room in a hotel and had overheard some ominous whispers he would not have cared in the least. Ah, but then he would have been ill—and in illness one grows so indifferent. Illness is a great help to unemotional behaviour, which of course is the correct behaviour for a man of the world. He almost regretted he was not very ill. But, then, Mr. Travers was obviously ill and it did not seem to help him much. D'Alcacer glanced at the bedstead where Mr. Travers preserved an immobility which struck d'Alcacer as obviously affected. He mistrusted it. Generally he mistrusted Mr. Travers. One couldn't tell what he would do next. Not that he could do much one way or another, but that somehow he threatened to rob the situation of whatever dignity it may have had as a stroke of fate, as a call on courage. Mr. d'Alcacer, acutely observant and alert for the slightest hints, preferred to look upon himself as the victim not of a swindle but of a rough man naively engaged in a contest with heaven's injustice. D'Alcacer did not examine his heart, but some lines of a French poet came into his mind, to the effect that in all times those who fought with an unjust heaven had possessed the secret admiration and love of men. He didn't go so far as love but he could not deny to himself that his feeling toward Lingard was secretly friendly and—well, appreciative. Mr. Travers sat up suddenly. What a horrible nuisance, thought d'Alcacer, fixing his eyes on the tips of his shoes with the hope that perhaps the other would lie down again. Mr. Travers spoke.
'Still up, d'Alcacer?'
'I assure you it isn't late. It's dark at six, we dined before seven, that makes the night long and I am not a very good sleeper; that is, I cannot go to sleep till late in the night.'
'I envy you,' said Mr. Travers, speaking with a sort of drowsy apathy. 'I am always dropping off and the awakenings are horrible.'
D'Alcacer, raising his eyes, noticed that Mrs. Travers and Lingard had vanished from the light. They had gone to the rail where d'Alcacer could not see them. Some pity mingled with his vexation at Mr. Travers' snatchy wakefulness. There was something weird about the man, he reflected. 'Jorgenson,' he began aloud.
'What's that?' snapped Mr. Travers.
'It's the name of that lanky old store-keeper who is always about the decks.'
'I haven't seen him. I don't see anybody. I don't know anybody. I prefer not to notice.'
'I was only going to say that he gave me a pack of cards; would you like a game of piquet?'
'I don't think I could keep my eyes open,' said Mr. Travers in an unexpectedly confidential tone. 'Isn't it funny, d'Alcacer? And then I wake up. It's too awful.'
D'Alcacer made no remark and Mr. Travers seemed not to have expected any.
'When I said my wife was mad,' he began, suddenly, causing d'Alcacer to start, 'I didn't mean it literally, of course.' His tone sounded slightly dogmatic and he didn't seem to be aware of any interval during which he had appeared to sleep. D'Alcacer was convinced more than ever that he had been shamming, and resigned himself wearily to listen, folding his arms across his chest. 'What I meant, really,' continued Mr. Travers, 'was that she is the victim of a craze. Society is subject to crazes, as you know very well. They are not reprehensible in themselves, but the worst of my wife is that her crazes are never like those of the people with whom she naturally associates. They generally run counter to them. This peculiarity has given me some anxiety, you understand, in the position we occupy. People will begin to say that she is eccentric. Do you see her anywhere, d'Alcacer?'
D'Alcacer was thankful to be able to say that he didn't see Mrs. Travers. He didn't even hear any murmurs, though he had no doubt that everybody on board the Emma was wide awake by now. But Mr. Travers inspired him with invincible mistrust and he thought it prudent to add:
'You forget that your wife has a room in the deckhouse.'
This was as far as he would go, for he knew very well that she was not in the deckhouse. Mr. Travers, completely convinced by the statement, made no sound. But neither did he lie down again. D'Alcacer gave himself up to meditation. The night seemed extremely oppressive. At Lingard's shout for Jorgenson, that in the profound silence struck his ears ominously, he raised his eyes and saw Mrs. Travers outside the door of the Cage. He started forward but she was already within. He saw she was moved. She seemed out of breath and as if unable to speak at first.
'Hadn't we better shut the door?' suggested d'Alcacer.
'Captain Lingard's coming in,' she whispered to him. 'He has made up his mind.'
'That's an excellent thing,' commented d'Alcacer, quietly. 'I conclude from this that we shall hear something.'
'You shall hear it all from me,' breathed out Mrs. Travers.
'Ah!' exclaimed d'Alcacer very low.
By that time Lingard had entered, too, and the decks of the Emma were all astir with moving figures. Jorgenson's voice was also heard giving directions. For nearly a minute the four persons within the Cage remained motionless. A shadowy Malay in the gangway said suddenly: 'Sudah, Tuan,' and Lingard murmured, 'Ready, Mrs. Travers.'
She seized d'Alcacer's arm and led him to the side of the Cage furthest from the corner in which Mr. Travers' bed was placed, while Lingard busied himself in pricking up the wick of the Cage lantern as if it had suddenly
