was unable to utter one single intelligible word, and he was also not responsible for his actions.

Now and then he burst into peals of laughter, grinning hideously, with all the characteristic symptoms of the maniac, and then he would suddenly strike an attitude as though to attack our skipper.

Fortunately I induced him to put his knife aside, for although rusty it was still very sharp. By all the means I could think of I endeavoured to extract some word from him, but in vain. The sounds that escaped him were deep, gutteral, and utterly unintelligible. By dumb show I tried to inquire who and what he was, but insanity asserted itself, for he only gave vent to a demoniacal shriek and cut some absurd capers that caused all three of us to laugh heartily.

I took out my pocket-book and handed it to him, together with a pencil, but instead of writing, as I hoped to induce him, he only looked to see what was contained in the pockets of the book and handed it back to me.

“Well!” cried Seal, “this chap beats everything! Who in the name of fortune can he be?”

“He’s a mystery,” I answered, utterly puzzled.

“He looks as old as Methuselah,” remarked the skipper. “He’s just as though he walked out o’ one of them old pictures.”

“He’s a lunatic, ain’t he, doctor?” asked Dunn.

“Most decidedly,” I responded; “and judging from the manner he received us, he is a rather dangerous one.”

“Well,” said Seal, “we’d better take him on board with us. Perhaps when he’s had a bit of grub and some rest we’ll be able to make him out. This mystery is a first-class one—better than any I’ve ever read in books. How old is he, doctor?”

“Impossible to tell,” I replied. “A good age certainly.”

“As old as this ship?” asked the seaman.

“I think not,” I responded, laughing.

“Well, we must find out something about him,” declared Seal, decisively.

“And what about that chestful of gold, sir?”

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