"No!" He sighed. "Painful duty."

As he persisted in his mumbling and I wanted my double to hear
every word, I hit upon the notion of informing him that I regretted
to say I was hard of hearing.

"Such a young man, too!" he nodded, keeping his smeary blue,
unintelligent eyes fastened upon me. What was the cause of it--
some disease? he inquired, without the least sympathy and as if he
thought that, if so, I'd got no more than I deserved.

"Yes; disease," I admitted in a cheerful tone which seemed to shock
him. But my point was gained, because he had to raise his voice to
give me his tale. It is not worth while to record that version.
It was just over two months since all this had happened, and he had
thought so much about it that he seemed completely muddled as to
its bearings, but still immensely impressed.

"What would you think of such a thing happening on board your own
ship? I've had the Sephora for these fifteen years. I am a well-
known shipmaster."

He was densely distressed--and perhaps I should have sympathised
with him if I had been able to detach my mental vision from the
unsuspected sharer of my cabin as though he were my second self.
There he was on the other side of the bulkhead, four or five feet
from us, no more, as we sat in the saloon. I looked politely at
Captain Archbold (if that was his name), but it was the other I
saw, in a grey sleeping-suit, seated on a low stool, his bare feet
close together, his arms folded, and every word said between us