"I am your new Captain," I said quietly.

In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, he had got rid of the plate and
the cloth and jumped to open the cabin door. As soon as I passed into
the saloon he vanished, but only to reappear instantly, buttoning up a
jacket he had put on with the swiftness of a "quick-change" artist.

"Where's the chief mate?" I asked.

"In the hold, I think, sir. I saw him go down the after-hatch ten
minutes ago."

"Tell him I am on board."

The mahogany table under the skylight shone in the twilight like a dark
pool of water. The sideboard, surmounted by a wide looking-glass in an
ormulu frame, had a marble top. It bore a pair of silver-plated lamps
and some other pieces--obviously a harbour display. The saloon itself was
panelled in two kinds of wood in the excellent simple taste prevailing
when the ship was built.

I sat down in the armchair at the head of the table--the captain's
chair, with a small tell-tale compass swung above it--a mute reminder of
unremitting vigilance.

A succession of men had sat in that chair. I became aware of that
thought suddenly, vividly, as though each had left a little of himself
between the four walls of these ornate bulkheads; as if a sort of
composite soul, the soul of command, had whispered suddenly to mine of