by for a call."

While he spoke, the watchman on deck hailed some one, and a moment later
a steady tramp sounded along the main deck, and a man came through the
port door and into the alleyway.

He hesitated for an instant, while a young man with rosy cheeks and
light curly hair followed through the door and halted alongside the
first comer.

The stranger was tall and slender, with a long face, and high, sharp
features, his nose curving like a parrot's beak over a heavy dark
mustache. His face was pale and his skin had the clear look of a man who
never is exposed to the sun. But his eyes were the objects that attracted
my gaze. They were bright as steel points and looked out from under
heavy, straight brows with a quick, restless motion I had observed to
belong to men used to sudden and desperate resolves. He advanced into the
cabin and scrutinized the surroundings carefully before speaking.

"I suppose you are Mr. Trunnell," he said to me, for I had now arisen and
stood in the doorway of the stateroom. His voice was low and distinct,
and I noticed it was not unpleasant.

"I have that honor," said the little mate, with drunken gravity, sobering
quickly, however, under the stranger's look.

"There are no passengers?" asked the man, as the younger companion opened
the door leading into the captain's cabin and gazed within.

"Not a bleeding one, and I'm not sorry for that," said Trunnell; "the old