was unobserved, he took
his own shape again with a sigh of relief. It was almost like holding
one's breath for long periods of time, to be in the shape of a bird or
a mouse, but to be himself, he knew, held even greater dangers.

For the first time he opened the leather bag at his neck and felt
inside. The first thing his fingers closed on he pulled out. He turned
the object in his palm toward the starlight to see what it might be.

It was a folding knife in a case of tortoise shell inlaid with strange
signs in silver and mother-of-pearl. Chris opened it--the blade was
razor-sharp--and put it experimentally point down on the wood of the
deck. As if by itself the blade revolved with immense speed, sinking
in so fast that only just in time did Chris snatch it out and hold it
more tightly. Trying it out he found that the blade would go through
anything, sometimes so easily as to scarcely seem to cut, leaving no
trace of a mark, it was so keen. At other times when he pressed on it,
the blade whirled around, boring a hole as deep as might be necessary.

What a useful gadget! Chris thought.

This is just what I need and now is the time! he said to himself, and
sprang up the nearest of the _Vulture's_ three masts.

What he had to do would take long, and there was little time left that
night in which to do it. For he intended slitting the lines of the
rigging here and there, not so deeply that they would give way at once
and be soon repaired, but so that with the first hard blow the lines
would break.

Growing daylight should have warned him long before he was done, for
Chris wished also to slit the sails, very slightly, when they had
been unfurled and the _Vulture_ was under way. The sound of voices
broke his absorption in his task. Looking down from the top of the
mainmast where he clung, Chris saw a boatload of returning sailors and
realized with a start that it was nearly sunup. In a moment a rat ran
down the mast to disappear into the foul-smelling hold of the pirate
vessel.

How long must he wait in the hold? Chris wondered. Although he might
be in the shape of a rat, it was only his outward form that had
changed. He could not eat grain or refuse that was not suitable for a
human, and he did not relish having to hold his own in a fight with a
true rat, there in the darkness. He contemplated boring a hole in the
hull of the _Vulture_ but decided to wait until the ship was under
sail. He bitterly regretted not havi