"Get Doctor Atwater, instantly!" cried McNerney, as he rushed down into the ship's hold.
One glance at the guarded door was sufficient.
One of the careless keepers was clamoring for admittance, while the other bent over a rigid form lying there, prone and ghastly, in the gray morning light stealing in at the little porthole.
"It happened while I was out at breakfast," pleaded the unfaithful watcher, whom McNerney roughly cast aside.
Atwater was at McNerney's elbow when the frightened inmate had unlocked the door of the strong room.

One shake of the recumbent form told the story.

"He has cheated the executioner," solemnly said Atwater, letting the lifeless hand fall heavily from his grasp.
"He lay that way all the while since your last visit," said the sullen derelict keeper.
A hasty search of the cell showed an empty vial.

"Chloral! Here is the key to the mystery!" cried Atwater, examining the coat, flung aside when the body was lifted.

"See this torn sleeve! The murderer had hidden the bottle of poison here in the thick breast-wadding of the coat under the coat-sleeve.