"Are you mad, Derevskin?"
"No, Highness, I hope not: but did you hear—or, rather, did you not hear?"
"What, you fool?"
"He—it—the body—it made no splash when it touched the water!"
The stammered words struck Oscarovitch like so many puffs of frozen air. No, the body of Franklin Marmion had made no splash. It had vanished through the port into silence. That was all. He beat back his own terror with the exertion of all his will-power, and said in a sneering whisper:
"Derevskin, you are either mad or drunk; but I will forgive you this time because you have obeyed. Go to bed, and don't forget to be either sober or sane when I come on deck."
The captain bowed his head, and went forward with shambling steps and shaking limbs. Oscarovitch closed the port with hands which all his force could not keep steady, and betook himself to bed, to lie awake for the rest of the short summer night wondering vainly what really had happened.
He had had his bath and dressed soon after six, and went on deck. The captain was on the bridge, and he joined him.
"Good morning, Derevskin!"
"I have the honour to wish Your Highness good morning!"