Jones heard it, too, and called down to me, nervously,
to see what was wrong.
I called up to him, cautiously, to come dawn and take my place
while I investigated. I thought it was Singleton. When Jones had
taken up his position at the companionway, I went forward. The
knocking continued, and I traced it to Singleton's cabin. His
window was open, being too small for danger, but barred across with
strips of wood outside, like those in the after house. But he was
at the door, hammering frantically. I called to him through the
open window, but the only answer was renewed and louder pounding.
I ran around to his door, and felt for the key, which I carried.
"What is the matter?" I called.
"Who is it?"
"Leslie."
"For God's sake, open the door!"
I unlocked it and threw it open. He retreated before me, with his
hands out, and huddled against the wall beside the window. I struck
a match. His face was drawn and distorted, and he held his arm up
as if to ward off a blow.
I lighted the lamp, for there were no electric lights in the forward
house, and stared at him, amazed. Satisfied that I was really Leslie,
he had stooped, and was fumbling under the window. When he
straightened, he held something out to me in the palm of his shaking
hand. I saw, with surprise, that it was a tobacco-pouch.
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