[Illustration: A schooner comporting herself in a manner uncommon on the Pacific] They were now within a mile of the schooner. Edwards scrutinised her calculatingly. "Eighty to ninety feet." "Say 150 tons. And she's a two-masted schooner, isn't she?" continued Ives, insinuatingly. "She certainly is." "Well, I've a hunch that that ship is a lucky find for any ship, but particularly for this ship." "Great Caesar!" cried the ensign excitedly. "Do you think it's _her_?" A buzz of electric interest went around the group. Every glass was raised; every eye strained toward her stern to read the name as she veered into the wind again. About she came. A sharp sigh of excited disappointment exhaled from the spectators. The name had been painted out. "No go," breathed Edwards. "But I'll bet another dinner----" "Mr. Edwards," called the captain. "You will take the second cutter, board that schooner, and make a full investigation." "Yes, sir." "Take your time. Don't come alongside until she is in the wind. Leave enough men aboard to handle her." "Yes, sir." The cruiser steamed to within half a mile of the aimless traveller, and the small boat put out. Not one of his fellows but envied the young ensign as he left the ship, steered by Timmins, a veteran bo's'n's mate, wise in all the ins and outs of sea ways. They saw him board, neatly running the small boat under the schooner's counter; they saw the foresheet eased off and the ship run up into the wind; then the foresail dropped and the wheel lashed so that she would stand so. They awaited the reappearance of Edwards and the bo's'n's mate when they had vanished below decks, and with an intensity of eagerness they followed the return of the small boat. Billy Edwards's face as he came on deck was a study. It was alight with excitement; yet between the eyes two deep wrinkles of puzzlement quivered. Such a face the mathematician bends above his paper when some obstructive factor arises between him and his solution. "Well, sir?" There was a hint of effort at restraint in the captain's voice. "She's the _Laughing Lass_, sir. Everything ship-shape, but not a soul aboard." "Come below, Mr. Edwards," said the captain. And they went, leaving behind them a boiling cauldron of theory and conjecture. III THE DEATH SHIP Billy Edwards came on deck with a line of irritation right-angling the furrows between his eyes. "Go ahead," the quarter-deck bade him, seeing him aflush with information. "The captain won't believe me," blurted out Edwards. "Is it as bad as that?" asked Barnett, smiling. "It certainly is," replied the younger man seriously. "I don't know that I blame him. I'd hardly believe it myself if I hadn't----" "Oh, go on. Out with it. Give us the facts. Never mind your credibility."