The Englishman's long face was strained. "Would you—take that decanter away, please!" he begged unsteadily.
Instantly Leonard understood the temptation into which Caradoc had unwittingly wandered. A strong odor of wine pervaded the cabin, and Smith's knock-out had given his nerves a great craving for a stimulant.
Without a word, Leonard walked to the table, took the wine bottle by its neck and heaved it through the open port. The three men in their half costumes stood listening intently until it chucked into the sea below. All three seemed to feel relief at the sound.
"That's all right, Caradoc," said Madden with a note of comfort in his voice, "all right, old chap. It won't be like this always."
"I was unstrung—rotten heat," grumbled the Englishman in acute self-disgust. "I thought I was getting over all—" he shifted the topic suddenly: "What do you make out of all this?"
"Completest mystery I ever ran into—the crew deserted for some reason——"
"And they had a feast and a celebration before they went. What cause of rejoicing they discovered in this place is more than I can fancy."
An inspection showed Smith was correct. What the boys had taken for bloodstains in their first excitement were splashes of wine. The table was still laden with dishes and eatables. Broken glass around the table showed that the diners had followed the old custom of breaking their goblets after toasts.
"They were having a last square meal before taking to their boats," speculated Leonard.
"But the boats are still here, sir," objected Greer.