McWhirter grew less gay. The deserted decks of the ship, her tragic
history, her isolation, the darkness, which my small flash seemed
only to intensify, all had their effect on him.

"It's got my goat," he admitted. "It smells like a tomb."

"Don't be an ass."

"Turn the light over the side, and see if we fastened that boat.
We don't want to be left here indefinitely."

"That's folly, Mac," I said, but I obeyed him. "The watchman's boat
is there, so we--"

But he caught me suddenly by the arm and shook me.

"My God!" he said. "What is that over there?"

It was a moment before my eyes, after the flashlight, could
discern anything in the darkness. Mac was pointing forward. When
I could see, Mac was ready to laugh at himself.

"I told you the place had my goat!" he said sheepishly. "I thought
I saw something duck around the corner of that building; but I think
it was a ray from a searchlight on one of those boats."

"The watchman, probably," I said quietly. But my heart beat a
little faster. "The watchman taking a look at us and gone for his
gun."