See, there is a paper under his hand, and there lies the pen
with which he had been writing."

He stepped forward to make a further examination, and the boys,
mastering their instinctive dread of the uncanny scene, also approached
the table.

The writing beneath the dead man's hand was on a fragment of paper,
yellowed with age and covered with scrawlings grown brown from the same
cause. Mastering his repugnance, the ensign took the paper from under
the skeleton's fingers that still rested upon it.

"What is it?" demanded Rob.

"Look at it for yourself," returned the officer after scrutinizing the
document.

Thus addressed, Rob took the mouldy screed while his chums looked over
his shoulder curiously.

"Why, it's nothing but a mass of figures," he exclaimed.

"That is certainly so. Some sort of cipher, I suppose," struck in
Merritt.

"That's what it is, I imagine," agreed the ensign; "but see this cross
marked in red ink in the midst of the figures! What can that be intended
for?"

"If you don't mind, I'll try to figure this out sometime," said Rob.
"I'm rather fond of working cryptograms and such things. It will serve
to pass the time, too, when we reach the Island."

"That is perfectly agreeable to me," returned the officer. "If you can
make anything of it, it may serve to solve the mystery of this ship. For
that a mystery there is about the whole thing, I feel certain."

"It does seem uncanny, somehow," agreed Rob; "the posture of this man,
this strange writing! I wonder how he died?"

"Impossible to say," rejoined the officer; "but let us investigate
further. We may make some more discoveries."

"I hope we don't make any more finds of this character," rejoined Rob
with deep feeling.

Reverently and quietly they made their way out of the presence of the
dead mariner.

Their next objective point was the poop of the vessel, where a high,
old-fashioned quarter-deck upreared itself above the main deck. Port
holes looked out from this, and the party of explorers rightly judged
that here had been the living-quarters of the ship's officers. A door of
heavily carved mahogany gave access to the space below the lofty
poop-deck. Pressing through this, they found themselves in a dark,
dingy-looking cuddy. The cushions of the lockers, which ranged along
each side, were green with mould and in the air hung the odor of decay.

A skylight above gave light to this chamber, and at its sides four
doors, two to a si