"None, shipmate, none!"
"No blood anywhere?"
"Never a spot, shipmate!"
"Why then is there ever a man aboard with a wounded hand, Adam?"
"Not one to my knowing and I've turned up the crew on deck twice these last two days—every man and boy, but saw not so much as cut finger or stained garment among 'em—and I've sharp eyes, Martin. But why d'ye ask?"
"Because the man who made away with these three fellows was wounded in the hand, Adam—howbeit that hand was bloody."
"Hand, shipmate," says Penfeather softly, "would it be a right hand—ha?"
"It was!" I nodded. "The mark of a great right hand."
"Aye, aye!" says Adam, pinching his chin. "A right hand, Martin. And where was the mark, d'ye say?"
"Beneath my bed."