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ll, _all_ were a bloodless white, the skin of their faces puffed and bloated and horribly wrinkled, like flesh that had been under water a long time. Dead men ... men whose movements were stiffly wooden ... as dead as their faces. But most horrible was the fact that they were there, that they moved at all! * * * * * "A queer mirage, isn't it?" A hollow voice spoke suavely behind them. Vilma gasped at the sudden sound, and they whirled. A foot away stood the tall, lean figure of the _Ariel's_ captain, Leon Corio. A queer smile twisted his thin lips. "What's the idea--sneaking up on us?" Darrell demanded angrily. He didn't like this man, hadn't liked him from the moment he had approached Cliff to sell him the yacht. But Cliff had bought the craft because she was a bargain, and in accordance with their agreement he had hired Corio as captain. The tall man's smile remained fixed, and he bowed gravely. "Sorry, sir. I always walk softly. A habit, I suppose." He gestured toward the galley. "It looks quite life-like, don't you think so?" "Life-like?" Cliff spoke between his teeth as he again faced the black ship. "It looks _dead_ to me!" The galley had almost reached them _now_, _veering sharply to draw up beside_ the _Ariel_. The drum quieted, and the oars trailed in the water, motionless except for the swaying imparted by the waves. A musty, age-old odor filtered through the air like a breath from a grave. The music and dancing had stopped. A fear-filled hush shrouded the yacht. Vilma drew Cliff's arm about her shoulder. He glanced back at the motionless captain. "_Do_ something, Corio!" he rasped. "Don't stand there like a dummy!" Corio nodded with his same queer smile. His hand darted to an inside pocket, came out bearing a curious instrument like four twisted cones of silver bound together with silver thongs. As he raised this to his mouth, his eyelids were slits behind which burned the embers of his eyes. Out over the sea crept a single note, deep, hollow, laden with eery minor wailings--a sound that summoned imperatively, yet a sound that repelled. It was a moan, hideous as the moan of a dying demon. It raked the heart with fear-tipped claws. It rose, and fell, and rose again, and as it died, it awakened the crew of the ancient galley to motion, sweeping them in a horde to the rail of the yacht. Cliff swung toward Corio in bursting fury, fury mingled with dread
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