, or not, I shall never know, as my eyes were instantly
attracted to a dark stain on both hilt and blade. I held it to the
light--it was the stain of blood, and my hands were also reddened by
it. In that first instant of horror, I hurled the weapon out through
the open port into the sea. Blood! human blood, without doubt! There
had been murder committed on board, and the fellow I had struck down
was seeking refuge, endeavoring to find concealment following his
crime. Ay, but what about the light in the cabin? It had been
extinguished after the fleeing fugitive had entered Dorothy's
stateroom. Did this mean that the slayer had an accomplice? If so,
then the killing was not the result of a mere personal quarrel
amidships, or in the forecastle; but the result of some conspiracy. I
thought of Sanchez, and of Estada's plan to obtain control of the
ship. Could this be its culmination? And was the Spaniard already
lying dead in his cabin? This was the only solution of the mystery
which seemed probable, and yet this did not wholly satisfy my mind.
Not that I questioned the fiendishness of Estada, or his
coconspirator, Manuel, or their unwillingness to commit such a crime,
but it seemed so unnecessarily brutal. Why should they stab a man
already so severely wounded as to be threatened with death? he was
helpless, and in their power; neglect, or at most a simple reopening
of his wounds, would be sufficient for their purpose. To attack him
anew would only mean exposure, and perhaps awaken the enmity of the
crew.

Nothing came of my thought--only confusion; nor did I dare investigate
for fear of becoming more deeply involved in the tragedy. There had
been no alarm; everything aboard was going on as usual; I could hear
LeVere tramping the deck, and occasionally catch the echo of his
voice, as he hailed the main-top, or gave some order to the men
forward. No, there was nothing to be done; my safety, and the safety
of the girl depended on our apparent ignorance of what had occurred.
We must have no part in it, no knowledge or suspicion. There was
nothing to do but wait the revelation of the morning. Convincing
myself of this, I washed the blood stains from my hands, and lay down
in the bunk, fully dressed to await my call. Evidently the wind had
decreased, as the _Namur_ pitched but little in the sea, and I could
hear the scuffling of feet indicating a new spread of canvas above.
The night air, blowing in through my open port became