A misty light came in through the port, sufficient to show me all was exactly as I had left it, and I flung off my jacket preparatory to lying down for a short rest before being recalled for the watch on deck.  The hilt of the knife in my belt attracted my attention, and I drew it forth, curious to learn if it bore any mark of ownership.  Whether it did, or not, I shall never know, as my eyes were instantly attracted to a dark stain on both hilt and blade.  I held it to the light—­it was the stain of blood, and my hands were also reddened by it.  In that first instant of horror, I hurled the weapon out through the open port into the sea.  Blood! human blood, without doubt!  There had been murder committed on board, and the fellow I had struck down was seeking refuge, endeavoring to find concealment following his crime.  Ay, but what about the light in the cabin?  It had been extinguished after the fleeing fugitive had entered Dorothy’s stateroom.  Did this mean that the slayer had an accomplice?  If so, then the killing was not the result of a mere personal quarrel amidships, or in the forecastle; but the result of some conspiracy.  I thought of Sanchez, and of Estada’s plan to obtain control of the ship.  Could this be its culmination?  And was the Spaniard already lying dead in his cabin?  This was the only solution of the mystery which seemed probable, and yet this did not wholly satisfy my mind.  Not that I questioned the fiendishness of Estada, or his coconspirator, Manuel, or their unwillingness to commit such a crime, but it seemed so unnecessarily brutal.  Why should they stab a man already so severely wounded as to be threatened with death? he was helpless, and in their power; neglect, or at most a simple reopening of his wounds, would be sufficient for their purpose.  To attack him anew would only mean exposure, and perhaps awaken the enmity of the crew.

Nothing came of my thought—­only confusion; nor did I dare investigate for fear of becoming more deeply involved in the tragedy.  There had been no alarm; everything aboard was going on as usual; I could hear LeVere tramping the deck, and occasionally catch the echo of his voice, as he hailed the main-top, or gave some order to the men forward.  No, there was nothing to be done; my safety, and the safety of the girl depended on our apparent ignorance of what had occurred.  We must have no part in it, no knowledge or suspicion.  There was nothing to do but wait the revelation of the morning.  Convincing myself of this, I washed the blood stains from my hands, and lay down in the bunk, fully dressed to await my call.  Evidently the wind had decreased, as the Namur pitched but little in the sea, and I could hear the scuffling of feet indicating a new spread of canvas above.  The night air, blowing in through my open port became so chill that I covered myself with a blanket.  The vessel creaked and groaned in every joint, some of the sounds actually startling me with their resemblance to cries of human agony.  I tossed about, occasionally sitting upright to peer around in the darkness, my body bathed in cold perspiration, yet must have dropped finally off into an uneasy sleep.  A sharp rapping of knuckles on the door awoke me with a start.