He touched the object gingerly, and found that it was held fast in place by a wire which ran from a screw in the shelf to another screw in the bulkhead above it, and was thus effectually prevented from moving with the rolling of the ship. Some excelsior lay upon the shelf, which had evidently been stuffed between the ticking object and the back row of cans.
Something—Tom did not know just what, but some sudden presentiment—prompted him to step quickly through the passage in order to make sure that he had entered the right room. Then he discovered his mistake.
The room he had entered was the store-room from which no supplies were to be taken on the present trip.
He turned back and knelt again, the cans he had removed standing all about him. One of them, which in his haste he had laid upon its side, began to roll with the jarring of the vessel, and Tom shuddered with a kind of panic fright at the sudden noise it made, and with trembling hands he set the innocent can upright.
Tick, tick, tick, tick....
What did it mean? What should he do?
His next impulse was to run upstairs and report what he had discovered. He did not dare to touch the thing again.
Then he realized that something—something terrible—might happen while he was gone. Something might happen in five minutes—the next minute—the next second!
Still kneeling, for strangely he could not bring himself to move, he watched the thing in a sort of fascination.
Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick—it went, on its steady, grim journey toward——