"No Board o' Trade inquiry," said the Old Man. "Nine men and the ship's bye on the Island o' San Pedro, latitude eighteen degrees, longitude one hundred and twenty-four degrees." He placed his finger on the chart on the cabin table. "There y'are, Mr. Thompson. And on'y me to tell the tale. The bye was gibbering like a baboon by the time he was fetched aboard the Para Wanka, Chinese barque out o' Honolulu. I was a bit touched meself. Thirteen weeks in 'orspital. Remarkable recovery. That's the knife on the sideboard in the leather case."
Mr. Thompson took the knife in his hand reverently.
"No Board o' Trade inquiry, sir," he said.
"No Board o' Trade inquiry," said the Old Man, taking a good drink of neat brandy. "Come on deck and let us have another look at the Island of San Pedro."
Overcome by a sense of uncanny fascination the boy followed the Old Man and the mate up the companion and to the deck. Long the Old Man gazed at the island through his glass, but made no further remark. Then, having seen enough of it, he handed the glass to Mr. Thompson, who made no remark either, but gazed with a mask of steel at the Island of San Pedro.
Mr. MacFarlane, who stood by, pointed with his finger suddenly.
"Sharks," he said.
"Aye," said the Old Man with queer eyes, "these roads is full of 'em. Aye, there they are, the pretties!"
The boy followed Mr. MacFarlane's finger over the deck rail, and sure enough, quite near to the ship was a number of creatures whose upturned bellies shone a strange dead white.
"Come every morning to look at us, the pretties, on the Island of San Pedro." The Old Man laughed in a queer way. "The tide brought 'em more than one nice breakfast, but they never had no luck with me and that bye. He! he! he!"