On the port side these had mostly fallen open, and the doors in some cases hung by a single hinge.

There was a terrible smell in the place.
Mrs.Goodwyn-Sandys looked around.
"Does the water ever come up here ?" she asked.
Sam lit another match.
"No," he said, stooping and examining the floor.
"You are quite sure ?" Her tone was so eager that he looked up.
"Yes, I am quite sure; but why do you ask ?" She did not answer: nor, in the faint light, could he see her face.
After a moment's silence she said, as if to herself-- "This is just the place." "For what ?" "For--for an Irish jig," she laughed with sudden merriment.
"Come, try a step upon these old timbers." "For heaven's sake take care!" cried Sam.

"There may be a trap-hatch where you stand, and these boards are rotten through and through.
Ten minutes ago you were mournful," he added, in wonder at her change of mood.
"Was I ?" She broke out suddenly into elfish song-- "'Och! Pathrick O'Hea, but I'm sad, Bedad! Och! darlint, 'tis bad to be sad.' 'Hwat's this ?' says he.
'Why, a kiss,' says she.
''Tis a cure,' says he.
'An' that's sure,' says she.
'Och! Pat, you're a sinsible lad, Bedad! Troth, Pat, you're a joole uv a lad!'" She broke off suddenly and shivered.
"Come, let us go; this place suffocates me." She turned and ran up the crazy ladder.

At the top she turned and peered down upon the dumbfounded Sam.
"Nobody comes here, I suppose ?" "I should think not." "I mean, the owner never comes to--" "To visit his cargo ?" laughed Sam.

"No, the owner is dead.