meaning, his purpose. From somewhere
beneath the blanket, the long, black muzzle of a pistol looked
straight into my eyes. The hand holding it was firm, the face fronting
me savagely sardonic.

"I'd like to kill you, Carlyle," he hissed hatefully. "By God, I don't
know why I shouldn't, the devils in hell would laugh if I did--so
don't tempt me too far. Get out of here, damn you! Every time I look
at you I see her face. If you take a step nearer, I pull the
trigger--go!"

I heard Haines scrambling back up the sharp incline of deck, and
realized the utter uselessness of attempting to remain. Any instant
might be our last; the man crazed, and probably dying, would kill me
gladly. He had chosen his fate--what was it to me? I turned, and
worked my way upward to the companion steps, half expecting every
instant to be struck by a bullet from behind. At the door I paused to
glance below; through the semi-darkness I could see his eyes glaring
at me like those of a wild beast.

"You refuse still to let me aid you, Sanchez?"

"To hell with you! Leave me alone!"

It was a hard pull back to the _Santa Marie_, for the sea had grown
noticeably heavier, while the weight of the chest sank the boat so
deeply in the water, as to retard progress and keep one man bailing.
The cloud in the southwest had already assumed threatening
proportions, and I urged the oarsmen to greater exertions, anxious to
get aboard before the coming storm broke. It was hard to keep my gaze
from the doomed _Namur_, but I could detect no change in her position,
as we drew in toward the waiting schooner. Harwood alone questioned
me, and I told him briefly what had occurred within the cabin, and his
comment seemed to voice the sentiment of the others.

"He made a bloomin' good choice, sir. That's how the ol' devil ought
ter die--the same way he's sent many another. It beats hangin' at
that."

Dorothy greeted me first, and we stood close together at the rail, as
the men hoisted the chest on deck, and then fastened the tackle to the
boat She said nothing, asked nothing, but her hands clung to my arm,
and whenever I turned toward her, our eyes met. I did not find the
courage to tell her then what we had found aboard the _Namur_,
although I could not prevent my own eyes from wandering constantly
toward the doomed vessel. The rising sea was slapping the submerged
stern with increasing violence, the salt spray rising in clouds over
the after rail. Watkins approac