Tom was on the point of following; but his fear of his comrades’ laughter was greater even than his dread of the unknown. Sam’s comical appearance brought a shout of laughter from Cliff and Nicky; even Mr. Neale was compelled to chuckle. Tom, therefore, mastered his impulse and remained on the cabin roof.
“Now what do you suppose that was?” Cliff wondered, after they relieved the tension of the momentary start of instinctive terror by a good laugh at Sam.
“I must give it up,” answered Mr. Neale, “but I am inclined to look for some human agency before I admit any supernatural cause.”
“It—it didn’t sound like—anything human!” Tom said with a shiver.
“Have you heard so many ghosts that you know what they sound like?” asked Nicky with a chuckle. Tom shook his head.
“I don’t feel much like investigating in the dark,” Cliff went on.
“I don’t see what there is to investigate,” Nicky added.
“I’ll take the dinghy in the morning and look for some evidences of human causes,” declared Mr. Neale. “Perhaps a Seminole Indian may be around here, fishing—or something. Or some white resident of the mainland, with a sense of humor, is playing a joke on us.”
“This message doesn’t seem like a joke,” Nicky defended. “It looks real to me. See how rusted the old can is—why, it’s almost like paper—and the parchment is awfully old.” He indicated, by the dim lantern, how frail the edge of the sheet was by tearing it.
“I think it’s real,” Cliff agreed. “Don’t you, Mr. Neale?”