He became suspicious, with no one and nothing definite in his mind. He
was suspicious of the curtain itself and observed it. It looked very
innocent. Then just as he was ready to put it down to a trick of
imagination he saw trembling movements where the two curtains joined.
Yes! Somebody else besides himself had been watching Captain Anthony. He
owns artlessly that this roused his indignation. It was really too much
of a good thing. In this state of intense antagonism he was startled to
observe tips of fingers fumbling with the dark stuff. Then they grasped
the edge of the further curtain and hung on there, just fingers and
knuckles and nothing else. It made an abominable sight. He was looking
at it with unaccountable repulsion when a hand came into view; a short,
puffy, old, freckled hand projecting into the lamplight, followed by a
white wrist, an arm in a grey coat-sleeve, up to the elbow, beyond the
elbow, extended tremblingly towards the tray. Its appearance was weird
and nauseous, fantastic and silly. But instead of grabbing the bottle as
Powell expected, this hand, tremulous with senile eagerness, swerved to
the glass, rested on its edge for a moment (or so it looked from above)
and went back with a jerk. The gripping fingers of the other hand
vanished at the same time, and young Powell staring at the motionless
curtains could indulge for a moment the notion that he had been dreaming.
But that notion did not last long. Powell, after repressing his first
impulse to spring for the companion and hammer at the captain's door,
took steps to have himself relieved by the boatswain. He was in a state
of distraction as to his feelings and yet lucid as to his mind. He
remained on the skylight so as to keep his eye on the tray.
Still the captain did not appear in the saloon. "If he had," said Mr.
Powell, "I knew what to do. I would have put my elbow through the pane
instantly--crash."
I asked him why?
"It was the quickest dodge for getting him away from that tray," he
explained. "My throat was so dry that I didn't know if I could shout
loud enough. And this was not a case for shouting, either."
The boatswain, sleepy and disgusted, arriving on the poop, found the
second officer doubled up over the end of the skylight in a pose which
might have been that of severe pain. And his voice was so changed that
the man, though naturally vexed at being turned out, made no comment on
the plea of sudden indisposition which young Powell put forward.