It was a dainty six-buttoned glove, of a light tan colour, and showed scarcely a trace of wear.
"This is very odd," muttered he; "I can hardly fancy a smuggler wearing this, still less a ghost." 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.