My cabin should be unlocked," said Ortiz.

It was. Ortiz entered, and, with his hands still in his pockets,
indicated a steamer-trunk.

"Please open that." He licked his lips. "I--I had thought I would have
warning enough. It has not been so severe before. Right at the
top...."

Bell flung the top back. A pair of bright and shiny handcuffs lay on
top of a dress shirt.

"Yes," said Ortiz steadily. "Put them upon my wrists, please. The
poison that has been given to me is--peculiar. I believe that one of
your compatriots has experienced its effects."

Bell started slightly. Ortiz eyed him steadily.

"Precisely." Ortiz, with his face a gray mask of horror, spoke with a
steadiness Bell could never have accomplished. "A poison, Senor Bell,
which has made a member of the Secret Service of the United States a
homicidal maniac. It has been given to me. I have been hoping for its
antidote, but--Quick! Senor Bell! Quick! The handcuffs!"

CHAPTER II

The throbbing of the engines went on at an unvarying tempo. There was
the slight, almost infinitesimal tremor of their vibration. The
electric light in the cabin wavered rhythmically with its dynamo. From
the open porthole came the sound of washing water. Now and then a
disconnected sound of laughter or of speech came down from the main
saloon.

Ortiz lay upon the bed, exhausted.

"It is perhaps humorous, Senor Bell," he said presently, in the same
steady voice he had used upon the deck. "It is undoubtedly humorous
that I should call upon you. I believe that you are allied with the
Secret Service of your government."

Bell started to shake his head, but was still. He said nothing.

"I am poisoned," said Ortiz. He tried to smile, but it was ghastly.
"It is a poison which makes a man mad in a very horrible fashion. If I
could use my hands--and could trust them--I would undoubtedly shoot
myself. It would be entirely preferable. Instead, I hope--"

He broke off short and listened intently. His forehead beaded.

"Is that an airplane motor?"

Bell went to the port and listened. The washing of waves. The
throbbing of the ship's engines. The dismal, long-drawn-out moaning
of the fog-horn. Nothing else.... Yes! A dim and distant muttering. It
drew nearer and died away again.

"That is a plane," said Bell. "Yes, It's out of hearing now."

Ortiz clamped his jaws together.

"I was about to speak," he said steadily, "to tell you--many things.
Which your government should k