Beyond the damaged boat, bumping against the rock, and the huge jaws with their rows of wedge-shaped teeth, naught remained to testify to the drama of the hour save the helpless baby on which the head-keeper was waiting so sedulously.
Already the signal "Doctor wanted" was fluttering from the lighthouse flagstaff. It would be noted at the Land's End and telegraphed to Penzance. The morning would be well advanced before help could reach the Gulf Rock from ashore.
When Brand and Spence entered Jones's bedroom they found him hard at work washing the child's clothing.
"She's asleep," he said, jerking his head towards a bunk. "I gev' her a pint of mixture. She cried a bit when there was no more to be had, but a warm bath with some boric acid in it made her sleepy. An' there she is, snug as a cat."
The domesticated Jones was up to his elbows in a lather of soap.
"Have you noticed any laundry marks or initials on her clothing?" asked Brand.
"Yes. Here you are."
He fished out of the bubbles a little vest, on which were worked the letters E. T. in white silk.
"Ah! That is very important. We can establish her identity, especially if the laundry mark is there also."
"I'm feared there's nothing else," said Jones. "I've not looked very carefully, as it'll take me all my time to get everything dry afore the tug comes. As for ironin', it can't be done. But my missus'll see after her until somebody turns up to claim her."