spoke to the steward. He was doing something there with his back
to me. At the sound of my voice he nearly jumped out of his skin,
as the saying is, and incidentally broke a cup.

"What on earth's the matter with you?" I asked, astonished.

He was extremely confused. "Beg your pardon, sir. I made sure you
were in your cabin."

"You see I wasn't."

"No, sir. I could have sworn I had heard you moving in there not a
moment ago. It's most extraordinary . . . very sorry, sir."

I passed on with an inward shudder. I was so identified with my
secret double that I did not even mention the fact in those scanty,
fearful whispers we exchanged. I suppose he had made some slight
noise of some kind or other. It would have been miraculous if he
hadn't at one time or another. And yet, haggard as he appeared, he
looked always perfectly self-controlled, more than calm--almost
invulnerable. On my suggestion he remained almost entirely in the
bathroom, which, upon the whole, was the safest place. There could
be really no shadow of an excuse for any one ever wanting to go in
there, once the steward had done with it. It was a very tiny
place. Sometimes he reclined on the floor, his legs bent, his head
sustained on one elbow. At others I would find him on the camp-
stool, sitting in his grey sleeping-suit and with his cropped dark
hair like a patient, unmoved convict. At night I would smuggle him
into my bed-place, and we would whisper together, with the regular
footfalls of the officer of the watch passing and repassing over