Undercurrent

I am the Whistler, and I know many things, for I walk by night. I know many strange tales, hidden in the hearts of men and women who have stepped into the shadow. Yes, I know the nameless terrors of which they dare not speak.

The night transcribed? It's the Whistler's strange story. Undercurrent. He was glued on the ship's, the SS Java Queen, out of Vancouver for San Francisco, was moving calmly through us, through us and in the vernacular all was well but not so with a certain member of the cargo ships half dozen passengers no Chris Horton was anything but calm for

as he hurried along the deck he knew that something was wrong very wrong and he intended to find out about he was determined to do so when he bumped against the deck steward carrying a tray of food I thought just wasn't looking Uh, where are you taking that trade?

Why, uh, to the trash court, Kevin. Good. You ought to be the one person on board this ship who knows what he looks like. What he looks like? What's that mean? But I just came from Ashcroft's cabin. There's a man in there who claims he's Ashcroft. Now I know he isn't.

What? What do you mean, sir? I've been bringing him his meals ever since they've failed. Not a very good failure, you know. We'll come on deck. I'm sure that they... Okay, take a look right now.

Find out what that guy in there is up to. You watch the steward walk away, Chris. Knock on the door of Ashcross, Kevin. Presently it opens. The man inside takes the trace. And a moment later, the steward is back at your side.