"
With his thoughts still running on the woman he had seen upon the
deck, he advanced to the packing-case again, and was beginning
absently to kick aside the heap of shavings and cotton-wool, when his
foot encountered some hard object. He bent down and drew it forth.
It was a small tin case or canister, of oblong shape, and measured
some four inches by two. It was perhaps two inches in depth. On the
cover was a label, and on the label the legend--
"WAPSHOTTS' PATENT COMPRESSED TEA."
"_Beware of Imitations._"
The lid was lightly soldered, and the canister remarkably heavy.
Mr. Fogo pulled out his pocket-knife, sat down on the edge of the
packing-case, and began to open his prize.
He had broken one blade in trying to unfasten the solder, and was
beginning with the second, when it occurred to him to cut through the
soft metal of the canister. In a few minutes he had worked a
considerable hole in the lid.
"Very curious tea this," remarked Mr. Fogo. "It's a deal more like
putty--or Californian honey."
The light in the cabin was faint; he determined to carry the canister
on deck and examine it in the sunlight.
He picked his way up the ladder, and was just emerging from the
hatch, when the sudden glare of the sun caused him to blink and then
sneeze.
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