"Well, I should. He doesn't look as if he were subject to fits and
giddiness. Why, the man's in the prime of life. I wouldn't have another
kind of mate--not if I knew it. You don't think he has a private store
of liquor, do you, eh? He seemed to me a bit strange in his manner
several times lately. Off his feed, too, a bit, I noticed."

"Well, sir, if he ever had a bottle or two of grog in his cabin, that
must have gone a long time ago. I saw him throw some broken glass
overboard after the last gale we had; but that didn't amount to
anything. Anyway, sir, you couldn't call Mr. Bunter a drinking man."

"No," conceded the captain, reflectively. And the steward, locking
the pantry door, tried to escape out of the passage, thinking he could
manage to snatch another hour of sleep before it was time for him to
turn out for the day.

Captain Johns shook his head.

"There's some mystery there."

"There's special Providence that he didn't crack his head like an
eggshell on the quarter-deck mooring-bits, sir. The men tell me he
couldn't have missed them by more than an inch."

And the steward vanished skilfully.

Captain Johns spent the rest of the night and the whole of the ensuing
day between his own room and that of the mate.

In his own room he sat with his open hands reposing on his knees, his