At last, on a night, as I crouched beside a gun on the 'tween-decks I espied of a sudden a shape, dim and impalpable-seeming in the gloom, that flitted silently past me and up the ladder to the deck above. Up started I, knife in hand, but in my haste I stumbled over some obstacle and fell; but up the ladder I sprang in pursuit, out into moonlight, and hastening forward came face to face with Adam.
"Ha-rogue!" I cried, and sprang at him with up lifted knife; but as I came he stepped aside (incredibly quick) and thrusting out a foot tripped me sprawling.
"Easy, shipmate, easy!" says he, thrusting a pistol under my nose. "Lord love you, Martin, what would you now?"
"So you'll follow me, will you!" I panted. "You'll creep and crawl and spy on me, will you?"
"Neither one nor t'other, Martin."
"'Twas you climbed the gangway but now!"
"Not I, Martin, not I." And as I scowled up at him I knew he spoke truth, and a new fear seized me.
"And you saw no one, Adam? Nothing—no shape that flitted up the ladder hitherwards and no sound to it?"
"Never a thing, Martin, save yourself."
"Why then," says I, clasping my temples, "why then—I'm mad!"