picking up one thing after another, then quickly laying it down to move somewhere else. Occasionally he would shake his head dumbly and look at Ben hopelessly. But he wouldn't speak, and Ben sat there feeling useless and not able to help. It was obvious that he was in the grip of some powerful emotion struggling to find expression, but somehow he couldn't get it out, and it was slowly killing him. Ben recognized the fact that he could not help Genaro any longer.

Genaro pressed his forehead on one knee, then on the other, meanwhile emitting little gasps, and his hands. clutched together till the knuckles showed white. Or he would fling himself on the huge bed, bury his face in the pillow, and beat the mattress slowly, steadily. Finally, he would end up by going down to the galleon again. He lost weight steadily.

Soon he became impossible to live with. He began locking himself up alone in his rooms and would see no one. He took his meals alone. Wildeyed and unpredictable, Genaro shouted and cursed at anyone who intruded into his solitude. At times during the hot nights indistinct, despairing sounds were heard coming from his cabin and sometimes the sound of weeping. He spent as much time beneath the sea as he could bear and often more than he could bear. It was impossible to see what kept the man going. But Genaro never gave the secret away, and as far as Ben could see, he brought nothing up with him from the sunken ship.

With the passage of the days a certain disquiet began to invade the minds of the crew. The atmosphere on the yacht had become charged with uneasiness. The Japanese shifted about uncomfortably and talked to each other in whispers. Ben felt that they had begun to doubt Genaro's sanity. The days worn on, and they remained where they were, the Spaniard looking and acting stranger than ever.

One morning one of the Japanese sailors asked to have a talk with Ben. He spoke fairly passable English. He represented the remainder of the crew. He wanted to know why they were remaining there. The crew was becoming frightened of Genaro. They thought him mad and wished to leave the ship. Ben was determined to have it out with Genaro.

That night Ben went to Genaro's cabin and found him in bed. He was calmer than usual now, but looked drawn and hollow-eyed. They were both quiet and the silence was uncomfortable. Genaro made a pitiful attempt to smile. Finally, he cleared his throat and in a strained, unnatural voice asked Ben if he thought him. mad. Ben found himself, for the very first time, acutely embarrassed in his presence. He said something about understanding and that Genaro should not worry. Then Ben told him about the crew. He thought for a moment. The crew could take the yacht's cutter back to Haiti; Ben could go too if he pleased. Genaro told Ben that he would stay on alone.

Somewhere in the room a clock began ringing slowly. It was late. The final note sounded. At last it stopped vibrating, and the room was still once again.

Genaro was weeping softly on the bed. Ben turned away with a tightening in his breast and his own eyes moist. He went up on deck and looked at the lopsided moon. The night was hot and oppressive. There was no breeze. There was a touch of insanity in this whole affair. Everything became uncanny and fateful.

The next morning the crew left in the yacht's cutter, and the only ones who stayed behind besides Genaro and Ben were the old Japanese engineer and his son. They had been with Genaro for years and had decided to stay. The ship was silent now.

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