"I beg your pardon?" I said.

We had the deck to ourselves. Its emptiness suddenly reminded me that we
had the ship, also, to ourselves. I remembered the purser had told me
that, except for those who travelled overnight from port to port, I was
his only passenger.

With dismay I pictured myself for ten days adrift on the high
seas--alone with Jones.

With a dramatic gesture, as one would say, "I am here!" he pushed back
his Panama hat. With an unsteady finger he pointed, as it was drawn
dripping across the deck, at the stern hawser.

"You see that rope?" he demanded. "Soon as that rope hit the water I
knocked off work. S'long as you was in Valencia--me, on the job. Now,
_you_ can't go back, _I_ can't go back. Why further dissim'lation? _Who
am I?_"

His condition seemed to preclude the possibility of his knowing who he
was, so I told him.

He sneered as I have seen men sneer only in melodrama.

"Oh, of course," he muttered. "Oh, of course."

He lurched toward me indignantly.

"You know perfec'ly well Jones is not my name. You know perfec'ly well