The body was that of a middle-aged, fine-looking man, his head covered
with the fur, ear-lapped cap that Norwegians affect, even in the
tropics. The eyes were wide open, the face discolored. In the last gasp
of suffocation the set of false teeth had been forced half-way out
of his mouth, distorting the countenance with a hideous simian grin.
Instantly Kitchell's eye was caught by the glint of the gold in which
these teeth were set.

"Here's about $100 to begin with," he exclaimed, and picking up the
teeth, dropped them into his pocket with a wink at Wilbur. The body of
the dead Captain was passed up through the skylight and slid out on the
deck, and Wilbur and Kitchell turned their attention to what had been
his stateroom.

The Captain's room was the largest one of the six staterooms opening
from the main cabin.

"Here we are!" exclaimed Kitchell as he and Wilbur entered. "The old
man's room, and no mistake."

Besides the bunk, the stateroom was fitted up with a lounge of red plush
screwed to the bulkhead. A roll of charts leaned in one corner, an alarm
clock, stopped at 1:15, stood on a shelf in the company of some dozen
paper-covered novels and a drinking-glass full of cigars. Over the
lounge, however, was the rack of instruments, sextant, barometer,
chronometer, glass, and the like, securely screwed down, while against
the wall, in front of a swivel leather chair that was ironed to the
deck, was the locked secretary.

"Look at 'em, just look at 'em, will you!" said Kitchell, running his
fingers lovingly over the polished brass of the instruments. "There's
a thousand dollars of stuff right here. The chronometer's worth five
hundred alone, Bennett & Sons' own make." He turned to the secretary.

"Now!" he exclaimed with a long breath.

What followed thrilled Wilbur with alternate excitement, curiosity, and
a vivid sense of desecration and sacrilege. For the life of him he
could not make the thing seem right or legal in his eyes, and yet he had
neither the wish nor the power to stay his hand or interfere with what
Kitchell was doing.

The Captain put the blade of the axe in the chink of the secretary's
door and wrenched it free. It opened down to form a sort of desk, and
disclosed an array of cubby-holes and two small doors, both locked.
These latter Kitchell smashed in with the axe-head. Then he seated
himself in the swivel chair and began to rifle their contents
systematically, Wilbur leaning over his shou