"Don't know," said Jack, very composedly, squinting up at the window. "Can't see anything."
"Well, but it must be something," persisted Mr. Chillingworth; "it must be something."
"I dare say it is; but I don't see anything. I can't think what it can be, unless—"
"Unless what? Speak out," said the doctor, impatiently.
"Why, unless it is Davy Jones himself, tapping with his long finger-nails, a-telling us as how we've been too long already here."
"Then, I presume, we may as well go; and yet I am more disposed to deem it some device of the enemy to dislodge us from this place, for the purpose of enabling them to effect some nefarious scheme or other they have afloat."
"It may be, and is, I dare say, a do of some sort or other," said Jack; "but what' can it be?"
"There it is again," said the doctor; "don't you hear it? I can, as plain as I can hear myself."
"Yes," said Jack; "I can hear it plain enough, and can see it, too; and that is more. Yes, yes, I can tell all about it plain enough."
"You can? Well, then, shew me," said the doctor, as he strode up to the window, before which Jack was standing gazing upon one particular spot of the shattered window with much earnestness.