He waited for a moment just outside, pressing his ear to the door. No noise: not even a sleeper’s breath: only the hum of the waves and the splash of the water falling from the keel with each dip of the bowsprit. A snore would be welcome, he thought, straining to hear: he would take heart at a snore. Maybe the captain was at his desk, poring over charts or logs even at this hour of the night? But no light showed under the crack of the door. He must be asleep; and now if only the door did not creak–
It did not creak. Tiptoeing in, he shut it behind him, fearing it would slam to with the swinging of the ship, and stood in the darkness, not breathing. He had seen where the captain kept the chest, against the wall at the foot of his bed.