"Nothing—nothing; why should there be? I'm not very well to-day, that's all. Glad to see you home again—can't you understand?"
"I understand that. But I know also that you must go steady, old man. You're trembling like a day-old kitten. This won't do at all, you know."
"I shall be better to-morrow. It's only transi—trans—what the devil word do I want?—transitory."
"And now about this beauty," Ellison tapped the pocket containing the pearl. "We must put it away somewhere where it will be safe. In the meantime, 'mum's' the word; do you understand?"
Murkard nodded, and moved towards the safe standing in a corner of the office. Again the figure passed the door unnoticed.
"You'd better put it in here," suggested Murkard, placing the key in the lock, and swinging the heavy door open. Suddenly he jumped back as if he had been shot, and stood trembling against the counter.
"What's wrong with you now, man?" Ellison cried almost angrily.
"Can't you see? can't you see? For Heaven's sake, come back!" He seized Ellison by the shoulder, and pulled him back towards the other side of the hut. "Can't you see that the floor's giving way, and if we're not careful we shall both fall into the pit? The sea washes under it, and it's over two thousand feet deep!"
His face was the colour of note-paper, and great beads of perspiration stood upon his forehead.
"Nonsense!" said Ellison. "The floor's as strong as I am, and there's no pit to fall into, even if it did give way. Murkard, my friend, I don't like the look of this at all. I shall have to put you to bed."