tell him they're going to drop it."

* * * * *

Bell went out. Gray fog, and washing seas, and the big ship ploughing
steadily on toward the south.... The horn blared, startlingly loud and
unspeakably doleful. Bell listened for other sounds. There were none.

Down the steep ladder to the promenade deck. Paula Canalejas nodded to
him.

"I saw you speak to Senor Ortiz," she said quietly. "You see?"

Bell was beginning to have a peculiar, horrible suspicion. It was
incredible, but it was inevitable.

"I think I see," he said harshly. "But I don't dare believe it. Keep
quiet and don't speak to me unless I give you some sign it's safe!
It's--hellish!"

He went inside and swiftly down the stairs. He found a steward
hesitating outside the door of Ortiz's cabin. He touched Bell's arm
anxiously as he was about to go in.

"Beg pardon, sir," he said, and stammered. "I--I heard Mr. Ortiz
making some--very strange noises, sir. I--I thought he was sick...."

"He is," said Bell grimly. "He told me he does not want a doctor,
though. I'm looking after him."

He closed the door behind him, and Ortiz grinned at him. It was a
horrible, a terrible grin, and Ortiz fought it from his face with a
terrific effort of will. There was foam about his lips.

* * * * *

"_Dios!_ It was--it was devilish!" he gasped. "Senor Bell, _amigo
mio_, for the love of the good God get my revolver from my trunk. Give
it to me...."

Bell said shortly: "The airplane just radioed that it's going to try
to swoop overhead and drop a package on board the steamer. It doesn't
dare alight in this fog."

"I think," gasped Ortiz, "I think it would be well to tie my feet. Tie
them fast! If--if the package comes, if I--if I am unpleasant, knock
me unconscious and pour it into my mouth. I fear it is too late now.
But try it...."

Through the port came the muttering of a seaplane's engines. The noise
died away. Almost instantly the siren boomed hoarsely.

"Ah, _Dios!_" said Ortiz unsteadily. "There it is! Senor Bell, I think
it is too late. Would you--would you assist me to go out on deck,
where I might fling myself overboard? I--think I can control my legs
so long."

"Steady!" said Bell, wrenched by the sight of the man before him
fighting against unnameable horror. "Tell me--"

"It is poison," said Ortiz, his features fixed in a terrible effort of
will. "A ghastly, a horrible poison of the