Mr. Chalk, deep in thought, paced up and down in silence.

"That's a secret," said Brisket. "I don't want them to think that I was
spying. I told you because you understand. A shipmaster has to keep his
eyes open, for everybody's sake."

"It's your duty," said Mr. Chalk, firmly.

Captain Brisket, with a little display of emotion, thanked him, and,
leaning against the side, drew his attention to the beauty of the stars
and sea. Impelled by the occasion and the charm of the night he waxed
sentimental, and with a strange mixture of bluffness and shyness spoke of
his aged mother, of the loneliness of a seafarer's life, and the
inestimable boon of real friendship. He bared his inmost soul to his
sympathetic listener, and then, affecting to think from a remark of Mr.
Chalk's that he was going to relate the secret of the voyage, declined to
hear it on the ground that he was only a rough sailorman and not to be
trusted. Mr. Chalk, contesting this hotly, convinced him at last that he
was in error, and then found that, bewildered by the argument, the
captain had consented to be informed of a secret which he had not
intended to impart.

"But, mind," said Brisket, holding up a warning finger, "I'm not going
to tell Peter Duckett. There's no need for him to know."

Mr. Chalk said "Certainly not," and, seeing no way for escape, led the
reluctant man as far from the helmsman as possible and whispered the
information. By the time they parted for the night Captain Brisket knew
as much as the members of the expedition themselves, and, with a rare
thoughtfulness, quieted Mr. Chalk's conscience by telling him that he had