"Yes," Zeno went on; "the tolling quite confused us. My officers, who, I fear, are by no means too expert with the compass and chart, declared that the sounds must have proceeded from the lighthouse of Gustavsvarn, whose lights, of course, could not then be seen in the dense fog. On the other hand, my coxswain, who, it is true, is a clumsy fellow enough, swears that it is impossible for the sound of a bell in Gustavsvarn to be heard in this quarter, for Gustavsvarn lies due north-east, while the sound we heard came more from the east. In his opinion the bell-ringing is simply nothing but the pranks of evil spirits. Just about here, he declares, there is a sunken town on the deep sea-bottom, and on foggy nights seamen always hear its minster bell tolling under the sea. The sound is too often their destruction, for the spectres' bell invariably leads them wherever the most frightful reefs and cliffs are to be found. There is quite a legend on the subject, I believe. Do you know the story at all?"
"Oh yes," said Feodor quietly, "I know it well."
"Pray have the goodness to tell it me."
On the spur of the moment Feodor composed and embellished a legend of a sunken town, from which on dark and foggy nights was heard the tolling of a minster bell. A Russian, he reflected, even although a commodore, is by nature superstitious. Possibly, he imagined, he would be satisfied with such an explanation.
"But do you yourself believe in this legend?" asked Zeno with a searching look, when he had finished.
Feodor met his questioner's gaze without a tremor, and shrugged his shoulders.
"Pooh!" he ejaculated; "why should I believe such stuff?"
"And yet," pursued Zeno, "there must be some truth in the story. The tolling of the bell had actually drawn us into such a dangerous position that, had the fog not lifted just before daybreak, I and my vessel should by this time have been at the bottom together. We dropped anchor not a moment too soon. But whence do the sounds come? One might conclude that they proceeded from some church spire on the island of Dago itself. But then, of course, no church bells are ever rung at night except at the service on Christmas Eve. Now, Baron Helmford, can you explain this mystery to me in any way?"
"Tolerably well, I fancy," said Feodor. "Without having recourse to any ghost stories, I think these sounds are capable of being explained quite satisfactorily—and that on purely scientific grounds. The sounds, I take it, do, in fact, come from Gustavsvarn lighthouse. The heavy atmosphere, of course, depresses the sound, which is then carried along the smooth surface of the water twice as far as it would be in fine weather. Sound has admittedly much greater travelling power in such an atmosphere than in clear weather."
"Yes, I know that," said Zeno. "But the altered direction?"