Masters? What room is it?"

"The last one to the right, sir. Don't you mind about me; I'm done for,
but maybe there's a chance for you two."

CHAPTER XXV

FREE OF THE YACHT

The man was evidently dying. West, from his experience on European
battle-fields, felt assured the end was indeed close at hand. His face
under the flitting rays of the swinging light was ghastly and drawn, his
words were barely audible, and painfully uttered, while, as the arm
supporting his head was withdrawn, he sank back heavily into his former
position, and his eyes instantly closed. Only as West bent lower could he
determine the surety of his breathing still.

There was nothing to be done for Masters; no occasion for lingering there
helplessly. The yacht was sinking under their feet, going down slowly,
but surely, and the end could not be far off. The very movement of the
vessel sickened him, brought to him a sensation of fear. Moreover he knew
the truth now, and saw clearly his duty. The watchman had not told much,
but it was sufficient to verify all his former suspicions. These fellows
he fought were desperate criminals, playing for high stakes, conspiring
to even commit murder to achieve their object--which could be nothing
less than gaining possession of the Coolidge fortune. To that end they
had coolly planned the sinking of the _Seminole_ in mid-lake, with the
helpless girl locked securely in her cabin. It was a cowardly, diabolical
crime, and yet, no doubt, they had figured it as the safest method of
completely disposing of her. And, but for the accident of his presence on
board, and his having been awakened by that incautious voice, the foul
plot would probably have proven successful. They had already got safely
away, leaving her behind a prisoner, her only possible rescuer this
watchman wounded unto death. The yacht was sinking in the dark, going
steadily down in those night shrouded waters. Who would ever know? The
main body of the crew, perhaps, never even dreamed of her presence
aboard. There was no evidence, nothing to convict the men really guilty.
Here was the scheme of a master-mind in crime. West weaved his way across
the rolling deck of the cabin to the stateroom door Masters had pointed
out as the one sheltering the girl. There was no sound from within, nor
would the knob yield to his grasp. It was locked, the key gone. There
was no time to wait and hunt for that missing piece of metal doubtless
safely hidden i