Dave Fearless stood looking over the queer jar and its contents very thoughtfully.
"Well," he declared at length, "this is a puzzle."
Under ordinary circumstances Dave might have supposed that some sailor addicted to the use of opium had hired some emissary to smuggle some of the drug aboard ship.
This, however, did not look rational in the present case. In the first place the contents of the jar represented over a year's pay of the average sailor. In the next place it was too easy to get it aboard by ordinary methods to occasion all this mystery.
Of course Dave at once decided that the placing of the opium in the forecastle cubby-hole was part and parcel of the same plot that had nearly wrecked the Swallow, that later just that day had developed the unsuccessful attempt at quarantining the steamer.
"What's the motive in this latest trick?" mused Dave. "Aha!" he exclaimed suddenly, "have I guessed it right?"
A quick suspicion, a prompt suggestion came to Dave's mind. He was speedy to act.
"I think I've struck the clew," he said--"I think I'm acting right in this matter."
Dave, carrying the jar with him, wandered about till he found a decayed tree stump. He emptied the opium into a hole in the wood and covered it over with bark.
Dave scraped the jar and made a little ball of the leavings, a sample of the stuff he might need for later experience and evidence.