The Mystery | Page 7

with
irrepressible flippancy. "She's probably haunted by cockroach wraiths."
"He'll have a chance to see," said Trendon. "Captain's going to put him
in charge."
"By way of apology, then," said Barnett. "That's pretty square."
"Captain Parkinson wishes to see you in his cabin, Mr. Edwards," said
an orderly, coming in.
"A pleasant voyage, Captain Billy," said Ives. "Sing out if the goblins
git yer."
Fifteen minutes later Ensign Edwards, with a quartermaster, Timmins,
the bo's'n's mate, and a crew, was heading a straight course toward his
first command, with instructions to "keep company and watch for
signals"; and intention to break into the brass-bound chest and ferret
out what clue lay there, if it took dynamite. As he boarded, Barnett and
Trendon, with both of whom the lad was a favourite, came to a sinister
conclusion.
"It's poison, I suppose," said the first officer.
"And a mighty subtle sort," agreed Trendon. "Don't like the looks of it."
He shook a solemn head. "Don't like it for a damn."

IV
THE SECOND PRIZE CREW
In semi-tropic Pacific weather the unexpected so seldom happens as to
be a negligible quantity. The Wolverine met with it on June 5th. From
some unaccountable source in that realm of the heaven-scouring trades
came a heavy mist. Possibly volcanic action, deranging by its electric
and gaseous outpourings the normal course of the winds, had given
birth to it. Be that as it may, it swept down upon the cruiser, thickening
as it approached, until presently it had spread a curtain between the
warship and its charge. The wind died. Until after fall of night the
Wolverine moved slowly, bellowing for the schooner, but got no reply.
Once they thought they heard a distant shout of response, but there was
no repetition.
"Probably doesn't carry any fog horn," said Carter bitterly, voicing a
general uneasiness.
"No log; compass crazy; without fog signal; I don't like that craft.
Barnett ought to have been ordered to blow the damned thing up, as a
peril to the high seas."
"We'll pick her up in the morning, surely," said Forsythe. "This can't
last for ever."
Nor did it last long. An hour before midnight a pounding shower fell,
lashing the sea into phosphorescent whiteness. It ceased, and with the
growl of a leaping animal a squall furiously beset the ship. Soon the
great steel body was plunging and heaving in the billows. It was a
gloomy company about the wardroom table. Upon each and all hung an
oppression of spirit. Captain Parkinson came from his cabin and went
on deck. Constitutionally he was a nervous and pessimistic man with a
fixed belief in the conspiracy of events, banded for the undoing of him
and his. Blind or dubious conditions racked his soul, but real danger
found him not only prepared, but even eager. Now his face was a

picture of foreboding.
"Parky looks as if Davy Jones was pulling on his string," observed the
flippant Ives to his neighbour.
"Worrying about the schooner. Hope Billy Edwards saw or heard or felt
that squall coming," replied Forsythe, giving expression to the anxiety
that all felt.
"He's a good sailor man," said Ives, "and that's a staunch little schooner,
by the way she handled herself."
"Oh, it will be all right," said Carter confidently. "The wind's
moderating now."
"But there's no telling how far out of the course this may have blown
him."
Barnett came down, dripping.
"Anything new?" asked Dr. Trendon.
The navigating officer shook his head.
"Nothing. But the captain's in a state of mind," he said.
"What's wrong with him?"
"The schooner. Seems possessed with the notion that there's something
wrong with her."
"Aren't you feeling a little that way yourself?" said Forsythe. "I am. I'll
take a look around before I turn in."
He left behind him a silent crowd. His return was prompt and swift.
"Come on deck," he said.
Every man leaped as to an order. There was that in Forsythe's voice

which stung. The weather had cleared somewhat, though scudding
wrack still blew across them to the westward. The ship rolled heavily.
Of the sea naught was visible except the arching waves, but in the sky
they beheld again, with a sickening sense of disaster, that pale and
lovely glow which had so bewildered them two nights before.
"The aurora!" cried McGuire, the paymaster.
"Oh, certainly," replied Ives, with sarcasm. "Dead in the west.
Common spot for the aurora. Particularly on the edge of the South Seas,
where they are thick!"
"Then what is it?"
Nobody had an answer. Carter hastened forward and returned to report.
"It's electrical anyway," said Carter. "The compass is queer again."
"Edwards ought to be close to the solution of it," ventured Ives. "This
gale should have blown him just about to the centre