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
occurred to none to doubt me, or to question me minutely. Why should
it have? His strangeness had been noted, commented upon; all who had
met him had thought him half mad. I did little to discourage the
impression. And so it came naturally that on the log it was entered
that he had fallen or leaped from the vessel some time during the
night.
A report to this effect was made when we entered Melbourne. I slipped
quietly ashore and in the press of the war news Throckmartin's
supposed fate won only a few lines in the newspapers; my own presence
on the ship and in the city passed unnoticed.
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