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The Mystery

The Pinwheel Volcano
The surgeon spoke first.
"Another point," said he. "Darrow was alive within a few days."
Captain Parkinson turned slowly away from the grave. "You are right," he said, with an
effort. "Our business is with the living now. The dead must wait."
"Hide and seek," growled Trendon. "If he's here why don't he show himself?"
The other shook his head.
"Place is all trampled up with his footprints," said Trendon. "He's plodded back and forth
like a prisoner in a cell."
"The ledger," said the captain. "I'd forgotten it. That grave drove everything else out of
my mind."
"Bring the book here," called Trendon.
Congdon unwrapped it from his jacket and handed it to him. The sailors cast curious
glances at the two headstones.
"Mount guard over Mr. Edwards's grave," commanded the captain.
The coxswain saluted and gave an order. One of the sailors stepped forward to the first
mound.
"Not that one," rasped the officer. "The other."
The man saluted and moved on.
"With your permission, sir," said Trendon.
On a nod from his superior officer he opened the ledger and took up Darrow's record.
"Here it is. Entry of June 3d."
"Everything lovely. Schooner lost to sight. Query--to memory dear? Not exactly. Though
I shouldn't mind having her under orders for a few days. Queer glow in the sky last night:
if they've been investigating they may have got what's coming to them. Volcano exhibiting
fits of temper. Spouted out considerable fire about nine o'clock. Quite spectacular, but no
harm done. Can foresee short rations of tobacco. Lava in valley still too hot for comfort.
No sign of Dr. Schermerhorn. Still sleep on beach.
 
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