‘Come,’ resumed the captain, ‘there must be something else. That just barely constitutes a crime!’

At these words the traveller raised his eyes quickly and looked at the captain. Beads of perspiration stood out on his temples. Abruptly he struck the table with his clenched first and exclaimed:

‘Everything I have just told you is false! I have deceived you. I am not a criminal!’

‘Then why the devil did you tell me all that?’ asked the captain.

‘Because you forced me to. You look at me continually, you ask me all sorts of questions, you are like a detective on the track of a murderer. I said the first thing that came into my mind.’ He struck the table once more with his fist and cried out, in a choking voice: ‘I was afraid. You frightened me. I am going to America on business. I am not a murderer at all.’

The captain shrugged his shoulders tranquilly and smiled.

‘Yes, you are,’ said he. ‘But you have nothing to fear from me. I shall not talk.’

The traveller bowed his head and his glasses dropped upon the table. At the same moment the call of a siren rent the air and someone up forward cried:

‘Land, ho!’

The captain rose from his chair with a bound and took a rapid glance through a porthole.

‘Land, ho!’ he cried in his turn. Then he added, ‘Many thanks. I saw it ten minutes ago.’

And he left the saloon with an important air.

He went down the little companionway leading to the deck and called out orders to sailors who were passing. Birds were circling about the smokestack, uttering wild cries. On the horizon a line darker than the water indicated America.

Then the captain turned toward the dining-saloon, the six portholes of which could be seen above him, and, putting his hands up to his mouth, he shouted, joyfully:

‘Ho, there! Passenger! We are arriving!’

But already for some minutes the traveller had been dead.

Translated by C. Bruerton.