Once on board Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys displayed the most eager inquisitiveness, almost endangering her beautiful neck as she peered down into the hole where the water lay, black and gloomy. She turned and walked aft with her feet in the scuppers, and her right hand pressed against the deck, so great was the cant on the vessel. It was uphill walking too, for the schooner was sagged in the waist, and the stern tilted up to a considerable height. Nevertheless she reached the poop at last. Sam followed.
"I want to see the captain's cabin," she explained.
Sam wondered, but led the way. It was no easy matter to descend the crazy ladder, and in the cabin itself the light was so dim that he struck a match. Its flare revealed a broken table, a horsehair couch, and a row of cupboards along the walls. On the port side these had mostly fallen open, and the doors in some cases hung by a single hinge. There was a terrible smell in the place. Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys looked around.
"Does the water ever come up here?" she asked.
Sam lit another match.
"No," he said, stooping and examining the floor.
"You are quite sure?"
Her tone was so eager that he looked up.
"Yes, I am quite sure; but why do you ask?"
She did not answer: nor, in the faint light, could he see her face. After a moment's silence she said, as if to herself—