“Oh, God! Can’t you tell yet?” whispered the captain. “Can’t you tell?”
“Shhh!” cautioned Filhiol. “Remember, you’re captain of this clipper. You’ve got to hold your nerve!”
The clock on the mantel gave a little preliminary click, then began striking. One by one it tolled out twelve musical notes, startlingly loud in that tense silence.
Marsh shifted his feet, pursed his lips and leaned a little forward. He drew out his watch.
“Humph!” he grunted.
“Better?” gulped Alpheus Briggs. “Better—or worse?”
“I’ll be damned!” exclaimed Marsh.
“What is it?”
“Dr. Filhiol, you’ve done it!”
“Is he—dead?” breathed Laura.