The After House

I deserve no credit for the solution of the Ella's mystery. I have

a certain quality of force, perhaps, and I am not lacking in

physical courage; but I have no finesse of intellect. McWhirter, a

foot shorter than I, round of face, jovial and stocky, has as much

subtlety in his little finger as I have in my six feet and a

fraction of body.

All the way to the river, therefore, he was poring over the drawing.

He named the paper at once.

"Ought to know it," he said, in reply to my surprise. "Sold enough

paper at the drugstore to qualify as a stationery engineer." He

writhed as was his habit over his jokes, and then fell to work at

the drawing again. "A book," he said, "and an axe, and a gibbet or

gallows. B-a-g--that makes 'bag.' Doesn't go far, does it?

Humorous duck, isn't he? Any one who can write 'ha! ha!' under a

gallows has real humor. G-a-b, b-a-g!"

The Ella still lay in the Delaware, half a mile or so from her

original moorings. She carried the usual riding-lights--a white

one in the bow, another at the stern, and the two vertical red

lights which showed her not under command. In reply to repeated

signals, we were unable to rouse the watchman. I had brought an

electric flash with me, and by its aid we found a rope ladder over

the side, with a small boat at its foot.

Although the boat indicated the presence of the watchman on board,

we made our way to the deck without challenge. Here McWhirter

suggested that the situation might be disagreeable, were the man to

waken and get at us with a gun.

We stood by the top of the ladder, therefore, and made another

effort to rouse him. "Hey, watchman!" I called. And McWhirter, in

a deep bass, sang lustily: "Watchman, what of the night?" Neither

of us made, any perceptible impression on the silence and gloom of

the Ella.

McWhirter grew less gay. The deserted decks of the ship, her tragic

history, her isolation, the darkness, which my small flash seemed

only to intensify, all had their effect on him.

"It's got my goat," he admitted. "It smells like a tomb."

"Don't be an ass."

"Turn the light over the side, and see if we fastened that boat.

We don't want to be left here indefinitely."

"That's folly, Mac," I said, but I obeyed him. "The watchman's boat

is there, so we--"

But he caught me suddenly by the arm and shook me.

"My God!" he said. "What is that over there?"

It was a moment before my eyes, after the flashlight, could

discern anything in the darkness. Mac was pointing forward. When

I could see, Mac was ready to laugh at himself.