She took the piece of paper and unfolded it in the safety of her lap. Jackson smiled and put on the air of a man who knows more than he cares to tell. This island was the one haven he had; he might be forced to remain here for several years—until the Hand had forgotten him. The barometer says nothing, neither the sky nor the water; the skipper has the "feel" that out yonder there's a big blow moving. To that, perhaps, a large part of its satisfyingness was due. Horrors abounded in every passageway as each turn could bring a vision of a poor woman running from her screaming plague-infested son or a bloated corpse of a rich man whose mouth lolled open, showing gaps where someone had pried out a few golden teeth.
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