"No, I do not think so, sir," he answered, although his eyes thanked
me for my courtesy. "The steward tells me you have bet that he will.
I think, sir, it is a poor bet. We are about to go around the Horn.
I have been around it many times. This is midwinter, and we are
going from east to west. Davis' room will be awash for weeks. It
will never be dry. A strong healthy man confined in it could well
die of the hardship. And Davis is far from well. In short, sir, I
know his condition, and he is in a shocking state. Surgeons might
prolong his life, but here in a wind-jammer it is shortened very
rapidly. I have seen many men die at sea. I know, sir. Thank you,
sir."

And the Eurasian Chinese-Englishman bowed himself away.



CHAPTER XXXII



Things are worse than I fancied. Here are two episodes within the
last seventy-two hours. Mr. Mellaire, for instance, is going to
pieces. He cannot stand the strain of being on the same vessel with
the man who has sworn to avenge Captain Somers's murder, especially
when that man is the redoubtable Mr. Pike.

For several days Margaret and I have been remarking the second mate's
bloodshot eyes and pain-lined face and wondering if he were sick.
And to-day the secret leaked out. Wada does not like Mr. Mellaire,
and this morning, when he brought me breakfast, I saw by the wicked,