We drove back to the _Queen Elizabeth_ and I had to admit that there
was a certain attraction about that big old dowager. We all got out
and strolled down the pier, looking over as much as we could see.
The pier had never been cleaned out. It bothered me a little--I mean I
don't like skeletons much--but Amy didn't seem to mind. The _Queen_
must have just docked when it happened, because you could still see
bony queues, as though they were waiting for customs inspection.
Some of the bags had been opened and the contents scattered
around--naturally, somebody was bound to think of looting the _Queen_.
But there were as many that hadn't been touched as that had been
opened, and the whole thing had the look of an amateur attempt. And
that was all to the good, because the fewer persons who had boarded
the _Queen_ in the decade since it happened, the more chance of our
finding it in usable shape.
Amy saw a gangplank still up, and with cries of girlish glee ran
aboard.
I plucked at Vern's sleeve. "You," I said. "What's this about what the
_Major_ won't settle for less than?"