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yacht
had miraculously blundered in the dark before she took the ground.
    "The weather seems clear enough at sea," he observed, finally, and
stopped to drink a long draught. Lingard, bending over the table, had
been listening with eager attention. Carter went on in his curt and
deliberate manner:
    "I noticed some high trees on what I take to be the mainland to the
south—and whoever has business in that bight was smart enough to
whitewash two of them: one on the point, and another farther in.
Landmarks, I guess. . . . What's the matter, Captain?"
    Lingard had jumped to his feet, but Carter's exclamation caused him to
sit down again.
    "Nothing, nothing . . . Tell me, how many men have you in that yacht?"
    "Twenty-three, besides the gentry, the owner, his wife and a Spanish
gentleman—a friend they picked up in Manila."
    "So you were coming from Manila?"
    "Aye. Bound for Batavia. The owner wishes to study the Dutch colonial
system. Wants to expose it, he says. One can't help hearing a lot when
keeping watch aft—you know how it is. Then we are going to Ceylon
to meet the mail-boat there. The owner is going home as he came out,
overland through Egypt. The yacht would return round the Cape, of
course."
    "A lady?" said Lingard. "You say there is a lady on board. Are you
armed?"
    "Not much," replied Carter, negligently. "There are a few muskets and
two sporting guns aft; that's about all—I fancy it's too much, or not
enough," he added with a faint smile.
    Lingard looked at him narrowly.
    "Did you come out from home in that craft?" he asked.
    "Not I! I am not one of them regular yacht hands. I came out of the
hospital in Hongkong. I've been two years on the China coast."
    He stopped, then added in an explanatory murmur:
    "Opium clippers—you know. Nothing of brass buttons about me. My ship
left me behind, and I was in want of work. I took this job but I didn't
want to go home particularly. It's slow work after sailing with old
Robinson in the Ly-e-moon. That was my ship. Heard of her, Captain?"
    "Yes, yes," said Lingard, hastily. "Look here, Mr. Carter, which way was
your chief officer trying for Singapore? Through the Straits of Rhio?"
    "I suppose so," answered Carter in a slightly surprised tone; "why do
you ask?"
    "Just to know . . . What is it, Mr. Shaw?"
    "There's a black cloud rising to the northward, sir, and we shall get a
breeze directly," said Shaw from the doorway.
    He lingered there with his eyes fixed on the decanters.
    "Will you have a glass?" said Lingard, leaving his seat. "I will go up
and have a look."
    He went on deck. Shaw approached the table and began to help himself,
handling the bottles in profound silence and with exaggerated caution,
as if he had been measuring out of fragile vessels a dose of some deadly
poison. Carter, his hands in his pockets, and leaning back, examined
him from head to foot with a cool stare. The mate of the brig raised the
glass to his lips, and glaring above the rim at the stranger, drained
the contents slowly.
    "You have a fine nose for finding ships in the dark, Mister," he said,
distinctly, putting the glass on the table with extreme gentleness.
    "Eh? What's that? I sighted you just after sunset."
    "And you knew where to look, too," said Shaw, staring hard.
    "I looked to the westward where there was still some light, as any
sensible man would do," retorted the other a little impatiently. "What
are you trying to get at?"
    "And you have a ready tongue to blow about yourself—haven't you?"
    "Never saw such a man in my life," declared Carter, with a return of his
nonchalant manner. "You seem to be troubled about something."
    "I don't like boats to come sneaking up from nowhere in particular,
alongside a ship when I am in charge of the deck. I can keep a lookout
as well as any man out of home ports, but I hate to be circumvented by
muffled oars and such ungentlemanlike tricks. Yacht officer—indeed.
These seas must be full of such yachtsmen. I consider you played a mean
trick on