They had halted now, not half a dozen feet from his hiding place, and were bending over the dory taking out the tins. Their backs were toward him, but as Steve lay there blinded by the flashes of lightning and deafened by the rolls of thunder, he felt, somehow, that on the contents of those tins hung the solution of his mystery. If he could only find out that, and the identity of the man who had drawn him hither, he would know something of where he stood.