The Blind Barber

turned to run, when Morgan caught her arm…

'Gawd lummy!' said the ghostly voice from the top of the companionway, as though it were coming out of a trance, 'that's the old man! Come on!'

Morgan was shooing his charges before him like chickens. He spoke so fast, under cover of the crashing swell, that he wondered if they heard him: 'Don't try to run, you fatheads, or Whistler'll see you! He's still groggy… Stick in the shadow, make a lot of noise with your feet as though you'd heard him and were running to help! Say something! Talk! Run about in circles… '

It was an old detective-story trick, and he hoped it would work. Certainly their response was magnificent. To Captain Whistler, opening gummy eyes as he sat on the deck, it must have seemed that he was being rescued by a regiment of cavalry. The din was staggering especially Captain Valvick's realistic impersonation of a horse starting from far away and growing louder and more thunderous as it galloped near. Morgan's stout-hearted trio also cut the gale with such cries as, 'What is it?' 'What's wrong?' 'Who's hurt?' They had timed themselves to spin round the forward bulkhead just as the second officer and the doctor came pelting up, their waterproofs swishing and the gilt ensigns on their caps gleaming out of the murk. There was silence while everybody clung to what was convenient, and several moments of hard breathing. The second officer, bending down, snapped on his flashlight. One good eye — undamaged, although the pickled-onion blaze of its pupil was distended horribly — one good eye smouldered and glared back at them out of a face which resembled a powerful piece of futurist painting. Captain Whistler was breathing hard. Morgan thought of the Cyclops, and also of incipient apoplexy. Captain Whistler sat on the wet deck, supporting himself with his hands behind him, and his cap was pushed back over his short white hair. He did not say anything. He was incapable, at that moment, of saying anything. He only breathed.

'Gor!' whispered the second officer.

There was another silence. Without removing his gaze from that terrifying face, the second officer beckoned behind him to the doctor. 'I — er—' he faltered; 'that is, what happened, sir?'

A certain terrible spasm and shiver twitched over the captain's face and chest, as though a volcano were trembling at its crust. But he still said nothing, and continued to wheeze noisily. His Cyclopean eye remained fixed.

'Come on, sir!' urged the second officer. 'Let me help you up. You'll — er — catch cold. What happened?' he demanded, bewilderedly, turning to Morgan. 'We heard—'

'So did we,' agreed Morgan, 'and came running when you did. I don't know what happened to him. He must have fallen off the bridge or something.'

Among the dusky figures Peggy pressed forward. 'It is Captain Whistler!' she wailed. 'Oh, the poor dear! This is awful! Whatever can have happened to him? I say—' She seemed to have a shocking presentiment. Although she lowered her voice, there was only a hissing recoil of waters on the rise, and her shocked whisper to Warren carried clearly. 'I say, I hope the poor man hasn't been drinking, has he?'

'What's that Tattling on the deck?' demanded Warren, who was peering about him in the gloom. Following his glance, the uneasy second officer directed the beam of the flashlight down on the deck…

'I–I do believe it's a whisky-bottle,' said Peggy, earnestly contemplating the object that rolled there. 'And — er — it seems to be empty. Oh, poor man!'

Morgan looked at her over his misted spectacles. A fair-minded person, he was bound to consider that this was laying it on a bit thick. Besides, he was momentarily afraid that Captain Whistler might have an apoplectic stroke. There were even richer hues blooming in the Cyclopean-eyed face; there were gurglings and rattlings and mysterious internal combustions which apparently defied nature. The second officer coughed.

'Come along, sir,' he urged, soothingly. 'Let me help you up, now. Then the doctor can—'

Captain Whistler found his voice.

'I will not get up!' he roared, gasping. 'I am perfectly sober!' But so violent was the steam pressure that it even blocked the escape-valve; he could only gurgle insanely, and the pain of his swollen jaw made him grimace and stop, clapping a hand to it. Yet one thought remained burning. 'That bottle — that bottle. That's what they hit me with. I am perfectly sober, I tell you. That's what they hit me with. There were three of 'em. Giants. They all jumped on me at once. And — my elephant. O, my God! what's happened to my elephant?' he demanded, galvanised suddenly. 'They stole my elephant!

Don't stand there like a dummy, damn you! Do something. Look for it. Find that elephant or, strike me blind? I'll have the ticket of every crimson immoral landlubber on this… '

There is no discipline like that of the British merchant service. The second officer stiffened and saluted. His not to reason why.

'Very good, sir. A search shall be instituted immediately, sir. It cannot have got far. In the meantime,' he continued crisply, and turned to the others with a jealous safeguarding of the captain's reputation, 'while the hunt for the commander's elephant is in progress, it is his instructions that all of you go below. Captain Whistler feels that it will be unnecessary for any of his guests to mention what has occurred to-night… Let me help you up, sir.'

'Sure thing,' said Warren affably. 'You can trust us. We'll keep quiet. If there's anything we can do—'

'But do you really think it's safe?' Peggy asked the second officer in some anxiety. 'I mean, poor man, suppose he sees the elephant sitting up on top of the smokestack or something, making faces at him, and orders one of you to go and coax it down…

'Smell my breath!' cried the captain passionately. 'Smell my breath, blast you; that's all I ask. I tell you I have not taken one single scarlet drink since five o'clock this evening.'

'Look here,' said the ship's doctor, who had been kneeling beside the anguished commander, 'you people be sensible. He's not — upset. He's quite all right, Baldwin. There's something very queer going on here. Steady on, sir; we'll have you feeling top-notch in a moment… We can get you up to your room without anybody seeing you, you know… No?' Evidently Captain whistler's soul shrank from encountering passengers or crew at that instant. 'Well, then, there's a recess forward here on the leeward side, with some tables and chairs. If Mr. Baldwin will hold the flashlight I've got my bag… '

This, Morgan felt, was the psychological moment for a retreat. The real object in remaining so long had been to ascertain definitely whether Captain Whistler had recognised his assailant. And it seemed they were safe. But he felt that suspicion was growing in the air. The doctor's sharp words had roused the first officer, who now seemed uneasy, and glanced several times at them. Doctor and officer were hoisting up their commander…

'Wait a minute!' shouted Whistler, as there began to be a general melting-away of spectators. The good eye glared. 'Hold on, there, you, whoever you are! You thought I was drunk, did you? Well, I'll show you! I want to ask you a lot of questions in a very few minutes. Stop where you are. I'll show you how drunk—'

'But look here, Captain,' protested Warren, 'we're wet through! We'll stay, if you like, but let this young lady go back to her cabin — to get a coat, anyway. She hasn't got a coat! There's no reason why she should stay, is there? None of us can run away and—'

'You'll tell me what to do, will you?' said the captain, his chest swelling. 'You'll give orders aboard my ship, will you? Haa! Strike me blind! There! Now just for that, my lad, you'll all stop exactly where you are; you won't move as much as a fraction of an inch from where you are, or sink me! I'll put the whole crew of you under arrest! Sink me! I'll put everybody under arrest, that's what I'll do. And when I find the so-and-so who hit me with a bottle and stole that emerald—'

'Don't!' Morgan said to Warren in a fierce whisper, as he saw the other lowering his head curiously and shutting up one eye as he regarded Captain Whistler, 'for the love of God don't say anything, Curt! In another minute he'll be making us walk the plank. Steady.'

'You won't move,' pursued Captain Whistler wildly, lifting up his hands, squinting at them, and holding them a fraction of an inch apart before his face, 'you won't move so much as that distance from where you are. You won't even move that far. You won't stir. You won't— Who was that who spoke?' he broke off to demand. 'Who's there anyway? Who are you? What was that about a coat? Who had the nerve to ask me something about a blasted coat, eh?'

'My name's Warren, Captain. Curtis Warren. You know me. I hope you don't think I'm the crook you're after?'

Whistler stopped, stared, and seemed tumultuously to reflect.

'Ah!' he said in a curious tone. 'Warren, hey? Warren. Well, well! And who is with you?' When three voices spoke up simultaneously he took on a grim but rather nervous tone. 'Stay where you are now! Don't move… Mr.