In the confusion of departure no one had observed him; no one was in a humor to seek him out; the passengers were pressing to the gangway, the stewards concerned only in counting their tips.

From deck to deck, down lane after lane of the great floating village, I raced blindly, peering into half-opened doors, pushing through groups of men, pursuing some one in the distance who appeared to be the man I sought, only to find he was unknown to me.

When I returned to the gangway the last of the passengers was leaving it.
I was about to follow to seek for Talbot in the customs shed when a white-faced steward touched my sleeve.

Before he spoke his look told me why I was wanted.
"The ship's surgeon, sir," he stammered, "asks you please to hurry to the sick-bay.

A passenger has shot himself!" On the bed, propped up by pillows, young Talbot, with glazed, shocked eyes, stared at me.