Bill entered the passage with Osceola at his heels.
“Captain’s and chief engineer’s quarters,” said Bill, glancing through the open doorways on either hand.
“And everything is in apple-pie order,” added Osceola.
Bill stepped inside the captain’s cabin and began to rummage, pulling out drawers at the small desk and bureau. “Strange,” he murmured, “—not a sign of it.”
“What are you looking for?” Osceola sat down on the captain’s bunk.
“Not being a sea-faring man yourself, you probably don’t quite realize how darned mysterious this business is.” Bill slammed a drawer shut in disgust and turned toward his friend. “This ship has no name!” he exploded. “Oh, she had one, all right. I spotted the marks on the hull, under a fresh coat of paint where the metal lettering had been—even before we came overside. And her boats, lifebuoys and belts are gone. I thought I would find the logbook or some of her ship’s papers in the skipper’s cabin—but I’ve drawn a blank. There isn’t the merest scrap of paper.”
“And yet,” remarked Osceola thoughtfully, “the lads who had these cabins left in a hurry. I may be what you Naval Academy midshipmen call a landlubber—but I can see that they left their clothes behind.”
Bill’s eyes crinkled. “Right you are. Let’s go below now. I don’t think Sherlock Holmes could dig any more dope out of these cabins.”
A steep stair further along the passage led down to a roomy forecastle, which, like the cabins above, they found empty. Next to the bunkroom were a crew’s mess, lazarette and galley—likewise deserted.
“Look here, Bill!” cried the Indian, lifting a lid from the cook range.