The After House

"I told you the place had my goat!" he said sheepishly. "I thought

I saw something duck around the corner of that building; but I think

it was a ray from a searchlight on one of those boats."

"The watchman, probably," I said quietly. But my heart beat a

little faster. "The watchman taking a look at us and gone for his

gun."

I thought rapidly. If Mac had seen anything, I did not believe it

was the watchman. But there should be a watchman on board--in the

forward house, probably. I gave Mac my revolver and put the light

in my pocket. I might want both hands that night. I saw better

without the flash, and, guided partly by the bow light, partly by

my knowledge of the yacht, I led the way across the deck. The

forward house was closed and locked, and no knocking produced any

indication of life. The after house we found not only locked, but

barred across with strips of wood nailed into place. The forecastle

was likewise closed. It was a dead ship.

No figure reappearing to alarm him, Mac took the drawing out of his

pocket and focused the flashlight on it.

"This cross by the mainmast," he said "that would be where?"

"Right behind you, there."

He walked to the mast, and examined carefully around its base.

There was nothing there, and even now I do not know to what that

cross alluded, unless poor Schwartz--!

"Then this other one--forward, you call it, don't you? Suppose we

locate that."

All expectation of the watchman having now died, we went forward

on the port side to the approximate location of the cross. This

being in the neighborhood where Mac had thought he saw something

move, we approached with extreme caution. But nothing more ominous

was discovered than the port lifeboat, nothing more ghostly heard

than the occasional creak with which it rocked in its davits.

The lifeboat seemed to be indicated by the cross. It swung almost

shoulder-high on McWhirter. We looked under and around it, with a

growing feeling that we had misread the significance of the crosses,

or that the sinister record extended to a time before the "she devil"

of the Turner line was dressed in white and turned into a lady.

I was feeling underneath the boat, with a sense of absurdity that

McWhirter put into words. "I only hope," he said, "that the

watchman does not wake up now and see us. He'd be justified in

filling us with lead, or putting us in straitjackets."

But I had discovered something.

"Mac," I said, "some one has been at this boat within the last few

minutes."

"Why?"

"Take your revolver and watch the deck. One of the barecas--"

"What's that?"

"One of the water-barrels has been upset, and the plug is out. It

is leaking into the boat. It is leaking fast, and there's only a

gallon or so in the bottom! Give me the light."