"Anyway," said Trendon vigorously, "I'd like to have a look at those bird- roosts. Mighty like signposts, to my mind."
"Very well," said the captain. "It'll cost us only a wetting. Run her in, Congdon."
With all the coxswain's skill, and the oarsmen's technique, the passage of the surf was a lively one, and little driblets of water marked the trail of the officers as they shuffled up the beach.
The two slabs stood less than fifty yards beyond high water tide. Nearing them, the visitors saw that each marked a mound, but not until they were close up could they read the neat carving on the first. It ran as follows:
Here lies
SOLOMON ANDERSON
alias
HANDY SOLOMON
who murdered his employer,
his captain, and his ship-
mates, and was found, dead
of his deserts, on these shores,
June 5, 1904.
This slab is erected as a
memento of admiring esteem
by
the last of his victims.
"And you can kiss the
Book on that."
"Percy Darrow fecit," said the surgeon. "You can kiss the Book on that, too."
"Then Slade was telling the truth!"
