People walked for hours longer than they liked or even
intended in order to have a chance of passing him in his chair and
scrutinising again the features that masked such depravity. For that
they masked it cannot be denied. A physiognomist looking at him would
have conceded a certain gloom, a trend towards introspection, possibly
a hypertrophied love of self, but no more. Physiognomists, however,
can retire from the case, for they are as often wrong as hand-writing
experts. And if any Lavater had been on board and had advanced such
a theory he would have been as unpopular as JONAH, for the man's
wickedness was not only a joy to us but a support. Without it the
voyage would have been interminable.
What, we all wondered, had he done? Had he murdered as well as
destroyed so many happy homes? Was he crooked at cards? Our minds
became acutely active, but we could discover no more because the old
Colonel, the source of knowledge, had fallen ill and was invisible.
Meanwhile the screw revolved, sweepstakes were lost and won, deck
sports flourished, fancy-dress dances were held, concerts were
endured, a Colonial Bishop addressed us on Sunday mornings and the
tall dark man with the black moustache and different suits of well-cut
clothes sat in his chair and passed serenely from one OPPENHEIM to
another as though no living person were within leagues.
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