Digital heart book

Whereupon I
learned that the captain could not write, having cut
his hand open a little before the loss of the brig;
that the latter part of the log even had been written
up by Mr. Goddedaal; and that Trent had always signed
with his left hand. By the time I had gleaned this
information Pinkerton was ready.
"That's all that we can do. Now for the schooner,"
said he; "and by to-morrow evening I lay hands on
Goddedaal, or my name's not Pinkerton."
"How have you managed?" I inquired.
"You'll see before you get to bed," said Pinkerton.
"And now, after all this backwarding and forwarding,
and that hotel clerk, and that bug Bellairs, it'll be a
change and a kind of consolation to see the schooner.
I guess things are humming there."
But on the wharf, when we reached it, there was no sign
of bustle, and, but for the galley smoke, no mark of
life on the Norah Creina. Pinkerton's face grew pale
and his mouth straightened as he leaped on board.
"Where's the captain of this----?" and he left the
phrase unfinished, finding no epithet sufficiently
energetic for his thoughts.


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