hatter so loud, you'll awaken
everybody," interrupted Martin. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes,
and bent over and pulled on his shoes. "I'll go on deck with you, and
of course Little Billy will give us the laugh."

But Martin was, in fact, a little bit impressed by the old sailmaker's
earnest conviction. As he laced his shoes, a little superstitious
thrill tingled along his spine at the thought of _It_ plucking Little
Billy from the deck and carrying him into the dark depths of the
brooding mountain.

But that was nonsense, he immediately reflected, half angry with
himself. By George! If he allowed that confounded volcano to affect
him so, he would soon be as bad as old Sails! Still, he had better go
on deck and take a look at Little Billy, and satisfy the old man. His
watch was soon, anyway.

Martin was recalling the hunchback's nervousness a few hours previous;
Little Billy was wrestling John Barleycorn. If he had disappeared as
the sailmaker claimed, he had probably lost the bout and would be found
in drunken sleep. There was whisky in the medicine-chest--no, he had
the keys. Well, then the alcohol in the boatswain's locker.

"Was there anything unusual about Little Billy's manner when you saw
him at one bell?" he asked MacLean.

"No, lad. I ken your thought," replied the other. "He'd no had a
drop, though he was jumpy as a cat."

Martin was taken aback by Sails' shrewd guess. He tiptoed to the door.

"Come on," he whispered to Sails. "Don't make any noise. We don't
want to disturb the others until we make sure Little Billy isn't on the
job."

They stepped into the cabin, and Martin's first glance was toward the
medicine-chest. It had not been disturbed. They went forward, through
the cabin alleyway, toward the main deck. The boatswain's room opened
off here.

Martin opened the door, half expecting to see the hunchback chatting
with his bosom friend. But the room was dark, and the red giant was
sleeping noisily. Then they opened the door at the end of the alleyway
and stepped out on deck, Martin softly closing the door behind him.

Abruptly, Martin found himself isolated in a sea of murk. At that
hour, the sun had dipped for its brief concealment beneath the horizon,
and the fog, which had been a gray-brown curtain in daylight, was now
an all-enshrouding cloak of blackness that rendered eyesight useless.

Literally, Martin could not see his hand before his face. Nor could he
s