"Precisely. The sigh of a sensualist leaving the world of the senses."
Mr. Spokesly stared at Mr. Marsh incredulously.
"I don't think you are 'right,'" he remarked, lighting a fresh cigarette. "The captain was not that sort of man. He was timid, I admit. He was scared of losing his life."
"Who isn't?" demanded the young man and was beginning another resonant laugh when Mr. Spokesly broke in.
"A good many people," he said sharply, "under the right conditions. Nobody wants to get killed, we know. But that does not mean they wouldn't take a risk."
"Well, didn't your captain take the risk?" said Mr. Marsh eagerly. "That was just what...."
"He did but he always wore one of these inflating things," said Mr. Spokesly quietly. "Vests you blow up when you want them. We had a collision, as you know, and he had it on then. And when he heard us crash I've no doubt he began to inflate it again."
"Then there is no use supposing he committed suicide," said a voice. "That would be absurd."
"Not altogether," replied Mr. Spokesly. "I don't know whether you gentlemen will think I am a bit mad for saying it, but after knowing him, it's quite possible he took something to kill himself and then tried to save himself from being drowned. There's a lot of difference between being dragged under in a sinking ship, and gradually getting sleepy and stiff in comfort, and don't you forget it. Humph!"
There was a silence for a moment when he ceased speaking, as though he had propounded some new and incontrovertible doctrine of philosophy. The young man who was walking up and down, almost vanishing in the gloom down near the great smoke-coloured velvet curtains, halted and looked interrogatively at Mr. Spokesly.