"Worse, if anything," said the Churchwarden, whose hand was still on his back pocket.
"It's a pity the captain didn't knife you in the back with the rest of 'em," said Toby, angrily.
Speak's little eyes flashed fire. He drew his knife and held it out threateningly in his hand, and started to rise. But he did not rise. He remained fixed in his chair, though it was easy to see that he was trying to get up. He sniffed the air, and his head remained fixed in the act of sniffing. The hand which held the knife continued to hold it out, without moving. A look of alarm came into his eyes. It was evident that he had smelled the Odour of Sanctity, which yet lingered faintly in the room. His outline began to waver; his face became vague; his features ran together; he took on the appearance of vapor; and there in the chair by the table, in place of the thick and solid sailorman, was an almost transparent form of mist or smoke, remotely in the shape of a man.
Everyone waited to see him vanish. The form still lingered; it did not disappear; it continued to sit in its chair with its hand extended, holding out a shadowy knife. The Odour of Sanctity had lost its full power, and what remained of it was insufficient to make him disappear.
The Churchwarden pulled out his bottle, and commenced to uncork it.
"Stay," said the Third Vice-President, holding up his hand. "I pray you stay. Do not spill any more of that deadly fluid. There has been enough destruction here tonight. I propose that we leave the late Matthew Speak as he is. He belongs to the Society
for Piratical Research. He is the Last of the Pirates, and I beg leave to claim him for the Society. As an exhibit, he will be highly valued. We shall from time to time conduct hither parties of the learned or the curious to view the Last of the Pirates. Nothing could be better. Our Society is now revived. I am immensely gratified. Low Dudgeon shall be known as the only Museum in the world with but a single Exhibit. Let the late Matthew Speak repose here in his chair as a permanent relic of a bygone age; the sole Exhibit in a Museum all his own. The interest of such an Exhibit will doubtless warrant a small charge at the door."
The Committee murmured an earnest approval. The Churchwarden looked at his companions, and put the bottle back into his pocket with a sigh.
"I thank you," said the Third Vice-President. "We will now proceed to consider our next step."
"I simply can't stay in this room," exclaimed Aunt Amanda, "with that thing sitting in that chair."