Fortunately, it did not occur to her that this very tap-tap-tapping might be the knocking of a hammer which was driving those blocks from their positions before the wheels of the car.
Since this thought did not come to her and, since the tapping did not come again, she at last snuggled down among the blankets and fell asleep.
Hardly had she wakened in the morning before she recalled this strange incident of the night. Hurriedly slipping into a middy suit and slippers, she raced up the short gangway and across deck, tossing the rope ladder over the side. The next moment she might have been seen walking slowly about the hull of the yacht. She was searching for traces of the strange tapping.
Having passed along the south side, she climbed through the trestle and made her way along the north side. She was about to conclude that the night’s experience had been purely an imaginary one when a white spot near the prow attracted her attention.
She caught her breath as her hand reached for it. It was a square bit of paper held in place by four tacks which had apparently been driven into the hull with great deliberation.
“That explains the tapping,” she whispered to herself. “Sure had their courage right along with them. Thought we’d be afraid to interfere, being just girls, I suppose. Wonder what it is.”
She reached up and pulled the paper free from the tacks. As soon as she had it in her hand she realized that written on it was a message. She read it—read it twice—then stood there staring.
The paper was of a peculiar rice-straw variety. The words were written in a strangely artistic fashion. Fine as the tracing of a woman’s pen, each letter stood out distinct, done in curves of wonderful perfection, the work of a master penman.
But she did not pause to admire the handwriting; it was the meaning of the words that startled her as she read:
“You must not stay here. You shall not stay. I have said it.”