ooked 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."

The contents of the boat revealed the truth of what I had said. The
boat was in confusion. Its cover had been thrown back, and tins of
biscuit, bailers, boathooks and extra rowlocks were jumbled together in
confusion. The barecas lay on its side, and its plug had been either
knocked or drawn out.

McWhirter was for turning to inspect the boat; but I ordered him
sternly to watch the deck. He was inclined to laugh at my caution,
which he claimed was a quality in me he had not suspected. He lounged
against the rail near me, and, in spite of his chaff, kept a keen
enough lookout.

The barecas of water were lashed amidships. In the bow and stern were
small air-tight compartments, and in the stern was also a small locker
from which the biscuit tins had been taken. I was about to abandon my
search, when I saw something gleaming in the locker, and reached in and
drew it out. It appeared to be an ordinary white sheet, but its
presence there was curious. I turned the light on it. It was covered
with dark-brown stains.

Even now the memory of that sheet turns me ill. I shook it out, and
Mac, at my exclamation, came to me. It was not a sheet at all, that
is, not a whole one. It was a circular piece of white cloth, on which,
in black, were curious marks--a six-pointed star predominating. There
were others--a crescent, a crude attempt to draw what might be either a
dog or a lamb, and a cross. From edge to edge it was smeared with
blood.

Of what followed just after, both McWhirter and I are vague. There
seemed to be, simultaneously, a yell of fury from