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I
Igotasleepingsuitoutofmyroomand,comingbackondeck,sawthenakedmanfromtheseasittingonthemainhatch,glimmeringwhiteinthedarkness,hiselbowsonhiskneesandhisheadinhishands.Inamomenthehadconcealedhisdampbodyinasleepingsuitofthesamegray-stripepatternastheoneIwaswearingandfollowedmelikemydoubleonthepoop.Togetherwemovedrightaft,barefooted,silent.
“Whatisit?”Iaskedinadeadenedvoice,takingthelightedlampoutofthebinnacle,andraisingittohisface.
“Anuglybusiness.”
Hehadratherregularfeatures;agoodmouth;lighteyesundersomewhatheavy,darkeyebrows;asmooth,squareforehead;nogrowthonhischeeks;asmall,brownmustache,andawell-shaped,roundchin.Hisexpressionwasconcentrated,meditative,undertheinspectinglightofthelampIhelduptohisface;suchasamanthinkinghardinsolitudemightwear.Mysleepingsuitwasjustrightforhissize.Awell-knityoungfellowoftwenty-fiveatmost.Hecaughthislowerlipwiththeedgeofwhite,eventeeth.
“Yes,”Isaid,replacingthelampinthebinnacle.Thewarm,heavytropicalnightcloseduponhisheadagain.
“There’sashipoverthere,”hemurmured.
“Yes,Iknow.TheSephora.Didyouknowofus?”
“Hadn’ttheslightestidea.Iamthemateofher—”Hepausedandcorrectedhimself.“IshouldsayIwas.”
“Aha!Somethingwrong?”
“Yes.Verywrongindeed.I’vekilledaman.”
“Whatdoyoumean?Justnow?”
“No,onthepassage.Weeksago.Thirty-ninesouth.WhenIsayaman—”
“Fitoftemper,”Isuggested,confidently.
