Job Rattenbury turned his eyes in the direction of Mrs. Marley. Then with clumsy, shaking hand he made a scrawl.
'I cannot decipher that. It is like a spider. Try again, old man. Ah! J, is it? What next?'
Again the pencil scratched.
'An A now. I fear Ja—. Come, finish.'
But the captain's powers were exhausted, the pencil fell, and the hand after it.
In vain did Dench replace it, the fingers could no longer clutch nor direct it. Rattenbury made painful attempts, but all failed.
'No good,' said Olver at last; 'and, drat it! there does not seem to be much daylight in what he has written. Jane, can you make anything out of it?'
She vouchsafed no reply, but looked towards the door.
'Ah!' said the boatman, 'expecting some from Bindon, are you? Then no time is to be lost.'
He took the captain's clothes and examined them. 'No keys! That tells something. But what have we here? A bag of gold.'