"By George!" Grief said to Snow, after the Tongan had gone back to his bunk. "I smell something more than shell. Those three men are standing watches over their Kanakas. That man's no more Swithin Hall than I am."
Snow whistled from the impact of a new idea.
"I've got it!" he cried.
"And I'll name it," Grief retorted, "It's in your mind that the Emily L. was their schooner?"
"Just that. They're raising and rotting the shell, while she's gone for more divers, or provisions, or both."
"And I agree with you." Grief glanced at the cabin clock and evinced signs of bed-going. "He's a sailor. The three of them are. But they're not island men. They're new in these waters."
Again Snow whistled.
"And the Emily L. is lost with all hands," he said. "We know that. They're marooned here till Swit
