CHAPTER XIII
WHEN he had finished his cigar he cast the stump overboard, watched it until it disappeared astern, and then went around to state-room No. 34. As he stepped in, and closed the door a masculine voice said very pleasantly:
“How do you do?”
Mr. Webster looked up and beheld a young man, arrayed in a very fancy pair of light blue silk pyjamas, stretched at his ease in the upper berth. In his right hand he held an open book; his left hand grasped his bare right foot, which he was rubbing comfortably; in his mouth he held an aromatic Turkish cigarette. He was very much at home, no doubt of that, for he was smiling in the friendliest fashion imaginable.
John Stuart Webster stared at the stranger for several seconds and concluded he was invading the sanctity of another's stateroom. “Excuse me,” he said, “I guess I'm in the right church but the wrong pew,” and he stepped out and looked for the number on the stateroom. To his surprise it was No. 34 after all, so he stepped back into the stateroom and favoured the stranger with another scrutiny.
“It does appear to me, my friend,” he said presently, “that I detect something strangely familiar about your pyjamas.”
“I wouldn't be the least bit surprised, Mr. Webster. I found them in your suitcase.”
“Well, how do you do?” Webster declared. “Pretty well, all things considered. May I offer you one of your own cigarettes? I found them in the suitcase also, and can recommend them highly.”
“Thank you very much.” Webster helped himself to a cigarette and sat down on the settee. Fell a silence of perhaps half a minute. Then:
“I dislike to appear inquisitive,” Webster began, “but the fact is, neighbour, I'm curious to know where you got that book. I observe you are reading Samuel Butler's 'Way of all Flesh,' and that the book is slightly damaged. Recently I purchased such a book in——”