Mr. Nott would have asked another
question, but with an abrupt "Good-night" the young man entered his
room, locked the door, and threw himself on his bed to reflect without
interruption.
But if he was in no mood to stand Nott's fatuous conjectures, he was
less inclined to be satisfied with his own. Had he been again carried
away through his impulses evoked by the caprices of a pretty coquette
and the absurd theories of her half imbecile father? Had he broken
faith with Sleight and remained in the ship for nothing, and would not
his change of resolution appear to be the result of Sleight's note? But
why had the Lascar been haunting the ship before? In the midst of these
conjectures he fell asleep.
VII.
Between three and four in the morning the clouds broke over the
Pontiac, and the moon, riding high, picked out in black and silver the
long hulk that lay cradled between the iron shells and warehouses and
the wooden frames and tenements on either side. The galley and covered
gangway presented a mass of undefined shadow, against which the white
deck shone brightly, stretching to the forecastle and bows, where the
tiny glass roof of the photographer glistened like a gem in the
Pontiac's crest.
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