Puggles slept on deck. In two minutes they were by his side, and he was stretching his jaws in a mighty yawn. Great was his astonishment when he heard of the loss. But he could throw no light on the matter. He had neither seen nor heard anything suspicious. As for Puggles himself, he was above suspicion.
“Come down and let us have another look,” said Jack. “It's just possible, you know, that some one may have been to the locker and accidentally dropped or knocked the case out upon the floor. I can't believe it's gone.”
Just as they reached the bottom of the companion-way, Puggles, who was slightly in advance of his master, stopped short, and called their attention to an object dangling from the handle of the door. Jack caught it up and ran to the table, where the lighted candle stood.
“Merely a string of wooden beads,” said he, tossing the object on the table.
“A native rosary!” cried Don, snatching it up. “I've seen this before somewhere.”
“Sa'b,” broke in Puggles, his eyes the size and colour of Spanish onions, “him shark-charmer rosilly, sa'b!”
“The very same!” cried Don. “I recollect seeing it round his neck this morning.”
“And I recollect seeing it there this evening,” added Jack.
“When we bundled him out of the companionway?”
“Yes.”