himself. He had at hand only the clothes he stood upright in; the rest of his wardrobe, packed in a portmanteau, was in the hold. The usual custom was departed from, and a man[Pg 63] despatched to try to find his portmanteau—a brown one with his initials "G. D." on it. [Pg 63] "Don't bring it down here, old chap," said Danvers to the man who had volunteered to fetch it. "Here are my keys. There are only clothes in it. Just bring me underflannels and shirt, that's all. I can wait while these trousers dry." He had thrown off coat and vest and boots before he had dived. The things were brought him, and he sat talking to the men while his trousers dried, as they very quickly did in such an atmosphere, and before long he was on deck again. He would probably have been made to pose as a hero—for a shipload of passengers needs something to occupy its attention—but another more startling sensation came about. The mere saving of a life sank into insignificance before the loss of one. The sea was not rough, and very few passengers were in their berths. Nearly all of them sat down to the meals prepared for them. Before dinner, the steward went over his list, and found that the occupants of one of the two berthed cabins had not figured at breakfast or luncheon. He went to the door of the cabin, and rapped with his knuckles—twice—thrice. Getting no answer,[Pg 64] he turned the handle and pushed open the door. [Pg 64] One berth was empty; in the other the occupant was apparently asleep. "Don't you feel well, sir?" No answer. Question repeated. Same result. Then the steward drew aside the curtains, and was transformed into the whitest faced being aboard that ship. For what he saw was a man lying there with his throat cut. To bound out of that cabin and fetch the doctor and captain was the work of a few moments. "Suicide."
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