this lack of faith vanished---he certainly was
concerned in no plot involving the life of the Portuguese.

"There is something wrong, Senor," he whispered, "for he was ever a
light sleeper."

"Then we will find out what it is."

The door was unlocked, the latch yielding instantly to the hand, and I
stepped within. A glance told everything. The port was closed, but
through the thick glass sufficient light found entrance to reveal the
interior. The chair before the table was overturned, and there were
papers scattered about the deck. Estada lay in his bunk, with one leg
dangling outside, and his head crooked against the side wall. His very
posture was that of sudden death, even had it not been pictured by the
ghastly face, peculiarly hideous in the gray light which stared at us,
and the dark pool of blood underneath. I heard an exclamation from
LeVere, and stood for an instant utterly unable to move. The only
sound audible was the steady drip of blood. I knew already what I
should find, yet finally forced myself forward--he was stone dead,
pierced with three knife thrusts. I stood up and faced the mulatto,
whose countenance was fairly green with horror.

"What do you know about this, Senor LeVere?" I asked sternly. "The man
has been murdered, knifed. Who did it--and why?"

He could scarcely answer, gripping at the table for support, and never
removing his gaze from the face of the dead man. Yet I believed his
words; was convinced this was not the terror of guilt.

"My God! I cannot tell; I have never dreamed of this--that is true,
Senor."

"Had the man enemies. Anyone you would suspect?"

"Enemies? Ay, plenty of them; we all have. We expect that in our
trade. This ship is full of devils ready enough to do such a job; but
I could not name the one who did do it. I know of no cause. I have
heard nothing."

"I believe you, LeVere," I said, when his voice ceased, yet unwilling
even then to trust him fully. "All that rules here is strength. Murder
is but a weapon, and hate struck this blow."

"What can we do, Senor?"

"Do! we must talk that over first. Open the port there and let in some
fresh air. That is better; but we cannot think, looking at that
ghastly face, and hearing the blood drip onto the deck. We'll leave
him here and talk over the affair in the cabin."

"But the men will think it strange," he protested, "if I do not return
to the deck; some may know what lies here."

"We cannot help that, LeVere.