"Sure; but there's no such happenchance in this case. Sixty's boat was a brig, and that was her name. This boat's a square-rigged two-master, and the word Dolphin, plain as the nose on your face, is there on the stern. It's a cinch this was Sixty's boat."
"Vell, subbosing id vas? Id don'd cut some ice. Ve're here, und Sixty iss on der shdeamer. Led's go looking some more."
"There's something main queer about all this tangle," muttered Dick, leading the way to the sliding doors of the after companion and removing the tarpaulin. "This ought to take us into the captain's quarters, and maybe we'll find something there that will shed light on the situation."
The doors were locked, but Dick sent Carl for the axe and smashed them open. The close air was almost stifling, but the boys faced it and descended into the small cabin. A sextant and a chronometer were the first things Dick's eyes lighted upon.
"If there are charts in that locker in the charthouse," he observed, "we can very easily tell whereabouts in the gulf we are."
Carl wanted to know how this was to be done, but Dick did not have time to explain, just then. He opened some windows, and the door leading out through the break in the poop. This caused a refreshing current of air to blow through the room.
There was a bunk built against one wall, and, like those in the fo'c'sle and the charthouse, it was in a state of disorder. A sea chest was near one wall. It was opened and, from the way its contents were scattered, it appeared to have been hastily rummaged.
In the centre of the cabin was a table, securely bolted to the floor. Dick pulled open a drawer of the table and drew out a couple of papers.
"The skipper got away in such a hurry," said Dick, "he didn't even take time to get these."
"Vat dey vas, anyhow?" inquired Carl, drawing close and looking over Dick's shoulder.