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.
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