“What a peachy old card!” thought David. “And can’t he just pour out the language? He’s just right, too.”
In the hall outside the washroom he found Red. He seemed preoccupied.
“Hello,” he said. “Say, Dave, listen; do you hear a funny noise?”
David listened. “Why, yes. Sounds sort of squeakish. We are not near an egg, and there’s nothing over us but the crew’s quarters, is there?”
“Nothing over or under; but it’s a darned queer noise. You can’t hear it five feet away.” To prove it, he slid along with his ear pressed against the partition. “It’s here, somewhere, right here by Mr. Hammond’s cabin.” He went down on his knees. “Comes from low down. Now I can’t hear it at all. Damn queer!”
David also knelt, and they listened in silence, staring at each other. The sound was intermittent; a whiffling, wheezing squeak, and occasionally a faint tearing sound.
“Fabric going,” said David anxiously. “It’s not a bag, because the disturbance is low down by the floor.”
“Well, we got to find out about that,” declared Red. “It may be just a piece of cloth rattling at a window, or something, but there mustn’t be any unusual noises on a boat like this, where everything means something. I’d hate to have to turn back now.”
They stood up as Mr. Hammond entered the passageway. David explained their trouble.
“Under or over my room, eh?” he said, unlatching his door.