dd," he muttered.

"Very odd," agreed Alan.

His shoulder was against the door. He drew back and with a single crash
sent it in. A pale light filtered into the room from a corridor lamp,
and the men stared. Rossland was in bed. They could see his face dimly,
upturned, as if staring at the ceiling. But even now he made no movement
and spoke no word. Marston entered and turned on the light.

After that, for ten seconds, no man moved. Then Alan heard Captain Rifle
close the door behind them, and from Marston's lips came a
startled whisper:

"Good God!"

Rossland was not covered. He was undressed and flat on his back. His
arms were stretched out, his head thrown back, his mouth agape. And the
white sheet under him was red with blood. It had trickled over the edges
and to the floor. His eyes were loosely closed. After the first shock
Doctor Marston reacted swiftly. He bent over Rossland, and in that
moment, when his back was toward them, Captain Rifle's eyes met Alan's.
The same thought--and in another instant disbelief--flashed from one to
the other.

Marston was speaking, professionally cool now. "A knife stab, close to
the right lung, if not in it. And an ugly bruise over his eye. He is not
dead. Let him lie as he is until I return with instruments and
dressing."

"The door was locked on the inside," said Alan, as soon as the doctor
was gone. "And the window is closed. It looks like--suicide. It is
possible--there was an understanding between them--and Rossland chose
this way instead of the sea?"

Captain Rifle was on his knees. He looked under the berth, peered into
the corners, and pulled back the blanket and sheet. "There is no knife,"
he said stonily. And in a moment he added: "There are red stains on the
window. It was not attempted suicide. It was--"

"Murder."

"Yes, if Rossland dies. It was done through the open window. Someone
called Rossland to the window, struck him, and then closed the window.
Or it is possible, if he were sitting or standing here, that a
long-armed man might have reached him. It was a man, Alan. We've got to
believe that. It was a _man_."

"Of course, a man," Alan nodded.

They could hear Marston returning, and he was not alone. Captain Rifle
made a gesture toward the door. "Better go," he advised. "This is a
ship's matter, and you won't want to be unnecessarily mixed up in it.
Come to my cabin in half an hour. I shall want to see you."

The second officer and the purser wer