The circle closed in on Slade, with an unconscious hitching forward of chairs. He had fixed his eyes on the captain. His mouth worked. Obviously he was under a tensity of endeavour in keeping his faculties set to the problem. The surgeon watched him, frowning.
"There was no fire," said the captain.
Slade leaped in his chair. "No fire! But I saw her, I tell you. When I went overboard she was one living flame!"
"You landed in the small boat. Knocked you senseless," said Trendon. "Concussion of the brain. Idea of flame might have been a retroactive hallucination."
"Retroactive rot," cried the other. "I beg your pardon, Dr. Trendon. But if you'd seen her as I saw her--Barnett!"
He turned in appeal to his old acquaintance.
"There was no fire, Slade," replied the executive officer gently. "No sign of fire that we could find, except that the starboard rail was blistered."
"Oh, that was from the volcano," said Slade. "That was nothing."
"It was all there was," returned Barnett.
"Just let me run this thing over," said the free lance slowly. "You found the schooner. She wasn't afire. She didn't even seem to have been afire. You put a crew aboard under your ensign, Edwards. Storm separated you from her. You picked her up again deserted. Is that right?"