Pushing through the crowd, they entered the chart house. Captain Hollinger was seated at the table, but merely glanced at them with a nod. Swanson and the old rheumatic seaman Borden stood before him.
"Yes, sir," the mate was saying, and Mart noticed that his burly, rugged face looked queer. "He was all right at eight bells, sir. Borden was at the wheel when the port watch came up, an' Liverpool put Birch there in his place."
"All right, Borden," returned the captain quietly. "You may go. Tell Birch to step in here."
The boys glanced at each other, pale-faced. Each was exceedingly anxious to know what had happened, but at sight of Captain Hollinger's tight-lipped mouth and drawn face, they dared ask no questions.
The one-eyed Birch came in, ducking his head respectfully.
"When did you last see Mr. Peters, Birch?" asked the captain.
"At six bells, Cap'n. Mr. Peters said he was goin' below for a drink, but he didn't come to the bridge again, sir."
"You heard nothing suspicious?"
"Nothin', sir."
"Who else was on the bridge?"