Next he inspected the cupboards. Some were open and all unlocked. He went over them all. At the end he found himself the richer by—
A watch-glass.
Three brass buttons (one bearing the initials P. J., and all coated with verdigris).
A pair of nut-crackers.
Several leaves of a devotional work entitled "Where shall I be To-morrow? or, Thoughts for Mariners."
A key.
An oily rag.
The cap of a telescope.
An empty bottle, labelled, and bearing in faded ink: "Poison. For Dick Collins, when his leg is bad."
A watch-glass.
Three brass buttons (one bearing the initials P. J., and all coated with verdigris).
A pair of nut-crackers.
Several leaves of a devotional work entitled "Where shall I be To-morrow? or, Thoughts for Mariners."
A key.
An oily rag.
The cap of a telescope.
An empty bottle, labelled, and bearing in faded ink: "Poison. For Dick Collins, when his leg is bad."
On the whole this was not encouraging. Mr. Fogo was turning to abandon the search, when something upon the cabin-floor caught his eye.
He stooped and picked it up. It was a lady's glove.
Mr. Fogo turned it over in his hand. It was a dainty six-buttoned glove, of a light tan colour, and showed scarcely a trace of wear.
"This is very odd," muttered he; "I can hardly fancy a smuggler wearing this, still less a ghost."
With his thoughts still running on the woman he had seen upon the deck, he advanced to the packing-case again, and was beginning absently to kick aside the heap of shavings and cotton-wool, when his foot encountered some hard object. He bent down and drew it forth.
It was a small tin case or canister, of oblong shape, and measured some four inches by two. It was perhaps two inches in depth. On the cover was a label, and on the label the legend—
"WAPSHOTTS' PATENT COMPRESSED TEA."
Beware of Imitations."