"Damn his cigarettes!" cried the surgeon. "This must be Darrow. Finicky beast! Let's see if it's signed."
He whirled the leaves over to the last sheet, glanced at it, and sprang to his feet. There, sprawled in tremulous characters, as by a hand shaken with agony or terror, was written:
Percy Darrow.
The bullet hole in the corner furnished a sinister period to the signature.
Trendon handed the ledger back to the captain, who took one quick look, closed it, and handed it to Congdon.
"Wrap that up and carry it carefully," he said.
"Aye, aye, sir," said the coxswain, swathing it in his jacket and tucking it under his arm.
"Now to find that cave," said Captain Parkinson to the surgeon.
"The cave in the cliff, of course," said Trendon. "Noticed it coming in, you know."
"Where?"
"On the north shore, about a mile to the east of here."
"Then we'll cut directly across."
