“look here; are you talking about prying open any of my doors?” — and with that she seized my arm.

“What’s the matter with you? What’s the matter with you, shipmate?”

In as calm, but rapid a manner as possible, I gave her to understand the whole case. Unconsciously clapping the vinegar-cruet to one side of her nose, she ruminated for an instant; then exclaimed — “No! I haven’t seen it since I put it there.” Running to a little closet under the landing of the stairs, she glanced in, and returning, told me that Queequeg’s harpoon was missing.

“He’s killed himself,” she cried. “It’s unfort’nate Stiggs done over again — there goes another counterpane —