“No one, barring the Captain.”
“Oh,” said Agar calmly, “he is all right. He can keep his mouth shut.”
“There is no doubt about that,” replied the Doctor.
A little pause followed, during which they both listened involuntarily to the ice-cream merchant's musical voice, which was now floating over the silent decks, raised in song.
“I should like to hear all about it some day,” said the ship's surgeon at last. He knew his man, and no detail of the strange lives that passed the horizon of his daily existence was ever forgotten. Only he usually found that those who had the most to tell required a little assistance in their narration.
“It is rather a rum business,” answered Jem Agar, not displeased.
At this moment the ship's bell rang four clear notes into the night.
“Ten o'clock,” said the Doctor. “Come into my cabin and have a smoke; the Captain will be in soon. He would like to hear the story too.”
So they passed into the cabin, and before they had been there many minutes the Captain joined them. For a moment he stood in the doorway, then he came forward with outstretched hand.
“Well,” he said, “all that I can say is that you ought to be dead. But it's not my business.”