I stepped across to Sanchez, slushing through the water, and barely able to keep my feet.  No matter who the brute was, he could not be left there to die like a rat alone.  Willingly, or not, the fellow must be removed before the bark went down.  He saw me coming, and drew back, his ghastly face like a mask.

“No, you don’t—­damn you, Carlyle!” he snapped angrily.  “Keep your hands off me.  So you want me to die with my neck in a noose, do you?  Well, you’ll never see that sight.  I was born a gentleman, and, by God!  I’ll die like one—­and go down with my ship.  Get out of here now—­both of you!  You won’t?  Hell’s fire, but you will, or else die here with me!  I’ll give you a minute to make your choice.”

He left no doubt as to his 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 approached us, coming from among the group of sailors forward.