Wembler looked up suddenly and spoke. "Say, isn't this the twenty-seventh of February?"
"No, the twenty-sixth," said the captain evenly. He looked at his clock for verification, but found it not. "I'm sorry," he said at once, "it is the twenty-seventh. I had no idea it was after midnight."
Wembler nodded. "A year ago this morning the Cumberland went down off the coast of Java."
Captain Henderson snatched at the change of subject. "That was quite a mystery, as I remember it. There were only a few survivors, I think."
Wembler said, "only one—the first mate. They got some ugly rumours out about him shortly after he appeared. Said he'd blown up the ship during the storm."
"His wife went down, too, if I'm not mistaken," said the captain, as if questioning Wembler's suggestion.
Wembler nodded. "They said it was partly because of her that he did it. There was another man on board, and I understand there'd been bad blood between the mate and this man on account of his wife. Then, too, the first mate had had a terrible time with the captain, and wanted to get even with him. Did the thing in a moment of madness."
The captain looked at him for a moment without seeming to see him. Talbot spoke suddenly. "All of which goes to show how oddly unfounded rumours come up. We know that no one but that first mate survived the disaster—and yet someone got out those rumours about him."
The captain nodded. "You speak about it as if you had seen it all," he said, turning to Wembler.
Wembler laughed. "I knew the first mate pretty well, and I knew what he was capable of doing when he got jealous. His wife was a most attractive woman."