Frank felt a little easier now that he had a companion, and he was more collected when he stood in the cabin holding up the light while Harry, who called first and got no answer, walked cautiously toward the huddled figure. Then he shrank back a pace or two.
"The man's dead!" he said.
After that neither of them moved for half a minute during which the deck slanted wildly beneath them, and then Frank proceeded very reluctantly toward the table. Harry followed him, and when they stooped over the shadowy figure Frank caught a partial glimpse of a yellow face and saw that the man wore a loose blue jacket.
"Turn the light a little," said Harry in a low, hoarse voice, and when Frank had done so he looked around at him.
"It's the man we got dinner with the day we went up the creek. He's been shot," he added.
Once more the horror of the thing was almost too much for Frank, but just then a furious thrashing of loose canvas and clatter of blocks broke out above them and relieved the tension.
"She's luffing with the sea on her quarter," said Harry. "I must get back to the helm, but we'll wait a moment and look around first. Lower your lantern. There's something on the floor—no, I don't mean the pistol, though you can pick that up."
He stooped down beside Frank, who held the lantern close to the wet planking, and saw for the first time a broad wet stain upon it leading toward the steps. That was enough for both of them, and saying nothing further they scrambled toward the door. They did not stop until they reached the wheel, and then Harry spent a few moments getting the vessel before the wind again.
"We're no wiser about the water yet," he said at length with a strained laugh.
"No," said Frank. "I didn't think about it—I only wanted to get out as quick as I could." He broke off, and then added, "What do you make of it?"