Chapter 6 IN
THE AFTER HOUSEThe match burnt out, and I dropped it. I remember mechanically
extinguishing the glowing end with my heel, and then straightening
to such a sense of horror as I have never felt before or since. I
groped for the door; I wanted air, space, the freedom from lurking
death of the open deck.
I had been sleeping with my revolver beside me on the pantry
floor. Somehow or other I got back there and found it. I made an
attempt to find the switch for the cabin lights, and, failing,
revolver in hand, I ran into the chart-room and up the after
companionway. Charlie Jones was at the wheel, and by the light of a
lantern I saw that he was bending to the right, peering in at the
chartroom window. He turned when he heard me.
"What's wrong?" he asked. "I heard a yell
