"Dated September fourth," he said. "That would have been the day previous to the time you found her." The writing was plain, in a careful, well-formed hand. He cleared his throat and read aloud: "Written by Jeremiah Wilkens of Salem, Mass., master of the _Minnie R._, bound from Shanghai to San Pedro. I have sailed the seas for forty years, and for the first time I am afraid. I hope I may destroy this paper when the lights of San Pedro are safe in sight, but I am writing here what it would shame me to set down in the ship's log, though I know there are stranger happenings on the face of the waters than man has ever seen--or has lived to tell. * * * * * "All this day I have been filled with fear. I have been watched--I have felt it as surely as if a devil out of hell stood beside me with his eyes fastened on mine. The men have felt it, too. They have been frightened at nothing and have tried to conceal it as I have done.--And the animals.... "A shark has followed us for days--it is gone to-day. The cats--we have three on board--have howled horribly and have hidden themselves in the cargo down below. The mate is bringing a big monkey to be sold in Los Angeles. An orang-outang, he calls it. It has been an ugly brute, shaking at the bars of its cage and showing its ugly teeth ever since we left port. But to-day it is crouched in a corner of its cage and will not stir even for food. The poor beast is in mortal terror. "All this is more like the wandering talk of an old woman muttering in a corner by the fireside of witches and the like than it is like a truthful account set down by Jeremiah Wilkins. And now that I have written it I see there is nothing to tell. Nothing but the shameful account of my fear of some horror beyond my knowing. And now that it is written I am tempted to destroy--No, I will wait--" "And now what is this?" Admiral Struthers interrupted his reading to ask. He turned the paper to read a coarse, slanting scrawl at the bottom of the page. "The eyes--the eyes--they are everywhere above us--God help--" The writing trailed off in a straggling line. * * * * * The lips beneath the trim gray mustache drew themselves into a hard line. It was a moment before Admiral Struthers raised his eyes to meet those of Robert Thorpe. "You found this in the captain's cabin?" he asked. "Yes." "And the captain was--" "Gone." "Blood stains?" "No, but the door had been burst off its hinges. There had been a struggle without a doubt." The officer mused for a minute or two. "Did they go aboard another vessel?" he pondered. "Abandon ship--open the sea-cocks--sink it for the insurance?" He was trying vainly to find some answer to the problem, some explanation that would not impose too great a strain upon his own reason. "I have reported to the owners," said Thorpe. "The _Minnie R._ was not heavily insured." The Admiral ruffled some papers on his desk to find a report.