The slowness with which he groped his way forward indicated unfamiliarity with the apartment, although his direct advance proclaimed some special purpose.  Clearly he had no fear of attack, believing no one more formidable than a girl was there to oppose him.  The darkness, perhaps, and silence, convinced the fellow that she had already retired.  He would have his grip on her, before she could even dream of his presence.  Then there would be no scream, no alarm.  I could determine almost his exact position as his advancing foot felt cautiously along the deck, seeking to avoid striking any obstacle in the darkness.  He came forward inch by inch, and I had the sensation of awaiting the spring of some creeping animal, about to leap upon me.  With tense muscles, the heavy chair poised for a blow, I measured the distance as indicated by faint, shuffling sounds, perceptible only because of the profound stillness.

I could not see, but I knew; I felt his presence; in imagination I pictured him, with arms outstretched, barely beyond my reach, deliberately advancing one foot for yet another step forward.  With all my force I struck!  Blindly as it had been delivered, the blow hit fair; there was a thud, an inarticulate groan, and the fall of a body onto the floor—­beyond that nothing.  I waited breathlessly, the chair back gripped in my hands, anxiously listening for the slightest movement.  There was none to be distinguished; not so much as the quiver of a muscle.  I felt Dorothy touch my shoulder, and caught the sound of her voice, trembling at my ear.

“What it is?  What did you do?”

“I struck him with a chair; he lies there on the deck.  Wait where you are until I learn what has happened.”

I bent over and touched him, dropping to my knees, every nerve tingling as my hands felt of the recumbent body.  The fellow lay in a heap, his flesh warm, but with no perceptible heart-beat, no semblance of breathing.  My fingers sought his face, and I could scarcely suppress a cry of surprise—­he was not Estada.  Who then was he?  What could have been his purpose in thus invading this stateroom?  All I could grasp was the fact that the fellow was not the Portuguese—­he possessed a smooth face, long hair, and was a much smaller man.  It must have become overcast without, for the star-gleam was no longer visible through the after port, and yet a faint light entered, sufficient for my purpose.  I dragged the body that way, dropping it where the slight illumination fell directly on the upturned face.  The features revealed were unfamiliar—­those unquestionably of a half-breed Indian.  Dorothy crossed to my side, her foot striking a knife, which came glimmering into the narrow range of light.  She stared in horror at the ugly weapon, and then at the ghastly countenance.

“Who is he?  Do you know?”

“One I have never seen before; he must belong to the gang amidships—­an Indian.”

She shuddered, her voice trembling.