“He came to murder!  See his knife lies there.  Why should he have sought to kill me?”

“It is all mystery,” I admitted, “and too deep for me.  Perhaps it was a mistake, or the fellow thought you had jewels.  Anyway he will never try that trick again—­see, my blow crushed his skull.”

“He is actually dead?”

“Beyond doubt.  The chair was a heavy one, and I struck with all my strength.  What shall be done with the body?  It cannot be left lying exposed here; no one would believe you killed him, and my presence must not be suspected.”

“Could it,” she suggested, “be dropped astern through the port?”

“Ay, that might be done; it was dull of me not to think of that.  Yet we must not risk a splash to be overheard on deck.  Is there a rope of any kind to be had?”

“Only this curtain cord; it is not large, but strong.”  “That ought to do, if long enough; there must be a twenty-foot drop to the water.  Yes, splice the two together; let me have them.”

She shrank back from touching the inanimate figure, her face very pale in the dim light, yet it required the combined efforts of both to force the stiffening body through the port hole, and then lower it slowly to the surging water below.  The cord cut our hands cruelly, but it held, and the dead man sank beneath the surface, and was swept swiftly astern, into the black depths.  We could distinguish footsteps on the deck above, but these were regular and undisturbed—­the slow promenade from rail to rail of the officer on watch.  Clearly nothing had been heard, or seen, to awaken suspicion.  I turned back, as the released body vanished, to look into her face, which was scarcely visible.

“If you should be questioned tomorrow you had best know nothing,” I said gravely.  “I do not think you will be, for surely such an attack can be no plan of Estada’s.  It could gain him no advantage.  The fellow was pillaging on his own account; if he is missed it will be supposed he fell overboard, and no one will greatly care.”

“You will be able to learn?  I—­I shall feel better if I know the truth.”

“Possibly; however it will be safer for me not to ask questions.  I am not myself in too good repute aboard.  You are not afraid to remain here alone?”

“No; I am not greatly frightened but shall try and bar the door with a chair.  I have no key.”

“Then I’ll leave you; half of my watch below must be gone by now.  I’ll take the fellow’s knife along, as it must not be found here.”

We parted with a clasp of hands, as I opened the stateroom door, and slipped out into the cabin.  To my surprise the light over the table had been extinguished, rendering the cabin so black I held to actually feel my way forward.  This struck me as very strange, particularly as I recalled clearly that a stream of light had flashed into the after stateroom with the entrance of the prowler.  The lantern must have been put out since then by some confederate.  Gunsaules would be soundly asleep long ago, and the light was supposed to burn until morning.  However there was no noise, other than the creaking and groaning of the ship’s timbers, mingled with the steady tread of LeVere on the upper deck.  So, after a moment of hesitation, I found my way across to my own stateroom and pressed open the door.