"Nothin'," said the other, shortly.

"You ain't been p'isoning 'im?" demanded Henshaw.

"Certainly not," said the cook, emphatically.

"He ses you told 'im you p'isoned 'im," said Henshaw, solemnly, "and 'e
give you two shillings to get something to cure 'im. It's too late now."

"What?" stammered the bewildered cook. He looked round anxiously at the
men.

They were all very grave, and the silence became oppressive.
"Where is he?" he demanded.

Henshaw and the others exchanged glances. "He's gone mad," said he,
slowly.

"Mad?" repeated the horrified cook, and, seeing the aversion of the crew,
in a broken voice he narrated the way in which he had been victimized.

"Well, you've done it now," said Henshaw, when he had finished. "He's
gone right orf 'is 'ed."

"Where is he?" inquired the cook.

"Where you can't follow him," said the other, slowly.

"Heaven?" hazarded the unfortunate cook. "No; skipper's bunk," said Lea.