Robins had in some measure recovered himself. He was a quiet,
hollow-eyed young person, with thick black hair and a thin frame,
about which the uniform of the ship hung loosely. "You are the man
who boarded the steamer from a seaplane, aren't you, and pretended
afterwards to be such a ninny?"

"I am," Crawshay acknowledged.

"How did you get on to this?"

Crawshay raised his eyebrows.

"Sorry," he replied, "that is a matter concerning which I fear that
you will have to restrain your curiosity."

"How did you get in here?"

"By means of a duplicate key which I obtained from the purser. I hid
in your bunk there and drew the curtains. Quite a comfortable
mattress, yours. You'll have to change your sleeping quarters, though."

"What is going to happen to me?" the young man enquired.

"Probably nothing extreme. You were philosophical enough to accept the
situation. If," Crawshay went on more slowly, "you had falsified a
single word of those messages, your end would have been somewhat
abrupt and your destination according to your past life. As it is, you
can go where you choose now and report to the captain later on in the
morning, after I have had a talk with him."