“Not me,” said the cook with a mighty shudder.
Two of the hands went and peeped furtively down through the skylight. The empty cabin looked strangely quiet and drear, and the door of the stateroom stood ajar. There was nothing to satisfy their curiosity, but they came back looking as though they had seen a ghost.
“What’s to be done?” said the skipper helplessly.
“Nothing can be done,” said the mate. “He’s beyond our aid.”
“I wasn’t thinking about him,” said the skipper.
“Well, the best thing you can do when we get to Plymouth is to bolt,” said the mate. “We’ll hide it up as long as we can to give you a start It’s a hanging matter.”
The hapless master of the Fearless wiped his clammy brow. “I can’t think he’s dead,” he said slowly. “Who’ll come down with me to see?”
“You’d better leave it alone,” said the mate kindly, “it ain’t pleasant, and besides that we can all swear up to the present that you haven’t touched him or been near him.”
“Who’ll come down with me?” repeated the skipper. “I believe it’s a trick, and that he’ll start up and serve me, but I feel I must go.”
He caught Bill’s eye, and that worthy seaman, after a short tussle with his nerves, shuffled after him. The skipper, brushing aside the mate, who sought to detain him, descended first, and entering the cabin stood hesitating, with Bill close behind him.