"Yes? Some private trouble? That's the usual reason, isn't it?"
"He had a grudge against everybody. Thought everybody was against him. They were, but that was because he hadn't the sense to get on with them."
"Perhaps it was a woman," suggested his companion hopefully.
"Him! A woman? Do you think a woman would have anything to do with him?"
Mr. Spokesly's tone as he put this question was warm. It was a true reflection of his present state of mind. "My husband," Evanthia had said, and it was as her husband he had stepped ashore. And he was conscious of a glow of pride whenever he compared other men with himself. She was his. As for the captain, the very idea was grotesque. He stirred in his chair, moved his arm on the balustrade. He did not want to talk about the captain. The words, "Perhaps it was a woman," did not, he felt, apply exactly to any one save himself. He heard his companion reply doubtfully, as though there could be any doubt:
"Oh—well, you know, one has heard of such cases. Still, as you say, the circumstantial evidence is strong. Those tablets of his were all over the place, I remember."
"He had the medicine-chest in his room," said Mr. Spokesly.
"Yes. The Doctor showed me where he'd been mixing the stuff in a cup. And there was a mould for making them. So you think he had no intention of...."
"No intention of taking anything fatal himself," was the reply.
"Ah! Indeed! That opens up a very interesting departure," said the other.