* * * * *

"I know it," Thorpe agreed, "but I saw them--a stretch of white water
for an eighth of a mile. I know it's impossible, but true. But forget
that item for a time, Admiral. Look at this." He opened a brief case
and took out a log-book and some other papers.

"The log of the _Minnie R._," he explained briefly. "Nothing in it but
routine entries up to that morning and then nothing at all."

"Abandoned," mused the Admiral, "and they did not take to the boats.
There have been other instances--never explained."

"See if this helps any," suggested Thorpe and handed the other two
sheets of paper. "They were in the captain's cabin," he added.

Admiral Struthers glanced at them, then settled back in his chair.

"Dated September fourth," he said. "That would have been the day
previous to the time you found her." The writing was plain, in a
careful, well-formed hand. He cleared his throat and read aloud:

"Written by Jeremiah Wilkens of Salem, Mass., master of the _Minnie
R._, bound from Shanghai to San Pedro. I have sailed the seas for
forty years, and for the first time I am afraid. I hope I may destroy
this paper when the lights of San Pedro are safe in sight, but I am
writing here what it would shame me to set down in the ship's log,
though I know there are stranger happenings on the face of the waters
than man has ever seen--or has lived to tell.

* * * * *

"All this day I have been filled with fear. I have been watched--I
have felt it as surely as if a devil out of hell stood beside me with
his eyes fastened on mine. The men have felt it, too. They have been
frightened at nothing and have tried to conceal it as I have
done.--And the animals....

"A shark has followed us for days--it is gone to-day. The cats--we
have three on board--have howled horribly and have hidden themselves
in the cargo down below. The mate is bringing a big monkey to be sold
in Los Angeles. An orang-outang, he calls it. It has been an ugly
brute, shaking at the bars of its cage and showing its ugly teeth ever
since we left port. But to-day it is crouched in a corner of its cage
and will not stir even for food. The poor beast is in mortal terror.

"All this is more like the wandering talk of an old woman muttering in
a corner by the fireside of witches and the like than it is like a
truthful account set down by Jeremiah Wilkins. And now that I have
written it I see there is no