Conviction of my appalling helplessness was complete. The ensemble of
the vessel from captain to cabin boy was, to put it conservatively,
average. None, I knew, save Throckmartin and myself had seen the first
apparition of the Dweller. Had they witnessed the second? I did not
know, nor could I risk speaking, not knowing. And not seeing, how
could they believe? They would have thought me insane--or worse;
even, it might be, his murderer.

I snapped off the electrics; waited and listened; opened the door with
infinite caution and slipped, unseen, into my own stateroom. The hours
until the dawn were eternities of waking nightmare. Reason, resuming
sway at last, steadied me. Even had I spoken and been believed where
in these wastes after all the hours could we search for Throckmartin?
Certainly the captain would not turn back to Port Moresby. And even if
he did, of what use for me to set forth for the Nan-Matal without the
equipment which Throckmartin himself had decided was necessary if one
hoped to cope with the mystery that lurked there?

There was but one thing to do--follow his instructions; get the
paraphernalia in Melbourne or Sydney if it were possible; if not sail
to America as swiftly as might be, secure it there and as swiftly
return to Ponape. And this I determined to do.

Calmness came back to me after I had made this decision. And when I
went up on deck I knew that I had been right. They had not seen the
Dweller. They were still discussing the darkening of the ship, talking
of dynamos burned out, wires short circuited, a half dozen
explanations of the extinguishment. Not until noon was Throckmartin's
absence discovered. I told the captain that I had left him early in
the evening; that, indeed, I knew him but slightly, after all. It