again he heard the silver horn of Corio. A low droning utterly unlike
the note that had awakened the galley's crew, it drifted languidly
along a channel of endless sleep. It seeped through the ear-drums,
touching every nerve-tip with resistless lassitude. Doggedly Cliff
fought against the sound, pressing his hands over his ears, gritting
his teeth, holding his eyelids wide. Yet he felt his muscles weaken,
began to relax, knew dimly that his mind, sodden with drowsiness, was
creeping toward the pits of slumber--and the vibrant drone ended!

* * * * *

His head cleared rapidly, and he bent over Vilma. As he touched a limp
arm, he knew she had passed from paralysis into a deep, quiet sleep.
He shook her. It was useless. He listened, heard her steady breathing;
and at that instant realized that the noises from the yacht had
ceased.

Rising, he strode toward the square of chalky moonlight. A foot away
he halted, fell back. He had heard a faint footfall, had seen an
armor-clad figure climbing over the rail! With silent haste he flung
himself down beside Vilma.

And there he lay while the crew of the galley carried his friends from
the _Ariel_, all slumped in that unnatural sleep, and stretched them
out on the floor of the black cabin. Unmoving, he watched through
narrow lids till all save Corio had been carried aboard, and the
drowned things had gone back to their places in the rowers' pits.
Again the hollow voice of the drum began throbbing through the
silence, and the oars creaked a faint accompaniment. He could feel the
galley cleaving the oily sea.

On his feet, he peered through the doorway. The backs of the rowers
rose and fell with stiff, mechanical rhythm. Beyond the galley's stern
came the yacht, slinking along like a thief, only one dim light
showing, her Diesel engines purring almost soundlessly.

He turned and bent over Vilma, still in thrall to that strange deep
slumber. As he traced the delicate outlines of her lovely face, now so
lifeless and pale, bitter wrath flared within him, wrath and hatred
for Leon Corio. But as he thought of the ghastly _undead_ things out
there in the galley pit, thought of this water-soaked anachronism
which had no right to be afloat, his skin crisped with a sense of
foreboding, a fear of what was yet to come. He must do something!

Stepping over the still forms of his friends, he moved to the forward
wall where a beam of radiance crept fearful