Suddenly he stood erect. He had abandoned his lounging. The doubt in his eyes had given place to something else which baffled description. He drew a deep breath, while a chilly sensation passed through his great body and left him with a feeling of curious helplessness.
He remained unmoving. His fascinated gaze was still held. Not for a moment did it shift. It almost seemed as if it were impossible for him to look away. Then the grey of the storm-clouds closed up again and the sunbeam faded out. And as it did so he raised a hand slowly, almost involuntarily, and passed it hesitatingly across his forehead.
With that movement mobility returned to him. He turned and glanced back into the alleyway. The next moment the sharp tones of his voice rang out.
“Anything doing, boy?” he called, harshly. And he followed up his question by hastily passing back into the cabin.
The search was over. McLagan and Peter Loby were standing at the break of the poop-deck. Sasa Mannik had separated from the others and was squatting hunched upon the main hatch. He was watching the white men, contemplating them with narrowed eyes while his shrewd native mind was following a train of thought which deeply preoccupied him.
“I’m not a thing wiser,” Peter said in reply to a question. “There wasn’t a scrap of paper, or a bunch of human clothes. But I wouldn’t rely on that too much. You see, I hurried, an’ when you’re looking that way you’re liable to miss things. Ther’s one of those rooms for wireless. The other two were bunks. One with one bunk and the other with two. Both had bed fixings and they looked so they hadn’t been slept in. It gets me beat. The lockers were plumb empty, just as though they’d been cleared out to leave no trace. It’s the queerest——”
He broke off. Sasa’s harsh voice had broken in on him. He had risen from his place on the hatch, and his eyes had widened out of their usual narrowing.
“I go,” he said, sharply. “This bad ship—no good. Bimeby I not come back ever.”
He turned and glanced almost fearfully about him.