“This mirror proves that Nat must have been aboard the schooner secretly; what he told his father and his eagerness to bet with me on a proposition that seemed foolhardy on the face of it clinch the thing in my mind. The misguided fool! That, Elsa, is an example of how low a man will go who has been spoiled and brought up without the slightest idea of self-control.”
“Why, you’re preaching to me, Code,” laughed the girl, and he joined her. But she sobered in a moment.
“This is all very fine theory,” she said, “and I half believe it myself, but it’s worthless; you haven’t a grain of proof. Tell me, have you ever thought over the details of the sinking of the May?”
“Only once,” groaned Schofield, “and I––I hate to do it, Elsa. I’d rather not. Every time I think of that awful day I sweat with sheer horror. Every incident of it is engraved on my brain.”
“But listen, Code, you must think about it for once, and think about it with all your mind. Tell me everything that happened. It is vital to our case; it may save the whole thing from being worthless. 233 Even if we get nothing you must make the effort.”
Code knew that what Elsa said was true. With an effort he focused his mind back on that awful day and began.
“There was a good sea that day,” he said, “and more than half a gale out of the northeast. If it had been any other day I shouldn’t have taken the old May out at all, because she was loaded very deep. But the whole trip was a hurry call and they wanted me to get back to Mignon with the salt as soon as I could.
“Old Burns saw me on the wharf and asked if he could go along as passenger. I said he could, and we started early in the morning. Now that day wasn’t anything unusual, Elsa. I’ve been in a lot worse gales in the May, but not with her so deep; but I didn’t think anything would happen.
“Everything went all right for three hours, with the wind getting fresher all the time, and the vessel under four lowers, which was a pretty big strain on any schooner. As I say, she should have stood it, but all of a sudden, on a big lurch, the fore topm’st that hadn’t a rag on her broke off short and banged down, hanging by the guys. With one swipe it smashed the foregaff to splinters, and half the canvas hung down flapping like a great wing.
“I couldn’t understand it. I knew the topm’st 234 was in a weakened condition, but not as rotten as punk, and I supposed my foregaff was as solid a piece of timber as ever went into a vessel.