ting soul," said Meeker.

"That's all very well, Mr. Meeker, but I've got to see what this is all
about, and why--Mr. Trego is supercargo in charge of the ship and--"

Riggs stopped suddenly when he realized that he had told us the secret
which Trego wished kept from us.

"Well, I've got trouble enough," he said, confused at what had happened.

"Nothing irregular, I trust," said Meeker, raising his eyebrows in mild
surprise and observing me cautiously.

"Too blasted irregular to suit me," said Riggs. "Gentlemen, I may as well
tell you that this man is down on the passenger-list as a passenger like
yourselves, but at the last minute before we sailed he showed papers as
supercargo and announced that he was in charge of the ship, and that he
represented the charter party. The truth of his statements was borne out
by a messenger from the owners. He told me that he would explain it all
as soon as we got to sea, and now he has been killed. Is it any wonder I
am upset about it?"

"It is passing strange," said Meeker. "Will you have to turn back to
Manila on account of this?"

"My last orders to proceed to Hong-Kong at the best speed still stand.
The Dutchman, Rajah--the Dutchman," and he made a sign to the Malay boy
to call the second mate.

The three of us gathered at the end of the table and steadied ourselves
in the minute we waited for the Dutchman, who soon came clumping down the
passage. He nearly stumbled over the body lying just outside the coaming
of the door, and then stopped and stared at the dead man.

"Gott!" he said, and then looked at Riggs questioningly.

"Take the bridge and have Mr. Harris muster the crew--all hands, and look
sharp," said Riggs. "Have every man Jack of 'em up here, and let us see
what they have been about. Have Mr. Harris muster the crew! Hear me?
Don't stand there like a barn-owl! Relieve Mr. Harris, and have all
hands aft!"

He hurried away, and that was the last I ever saw of the second mate of
the _Kut Sang_. Rajah and a Chinese sailor spread old canvas close to the
door inside the saloon, and lifted Trego's body on it.

Harris came up the passage and leaned against the door. He had on an old
pair of dungaree trousers and a jacket that had been white, and his bare
feet were thrust into native heelless slippers.

"This is a nice mess, ain't it?" he growled, looking coldly at the scene
before him. "Who let the knife into him?"

"That's what we want to find out at once," said