A glance told everything.

The port was closed, but through the thick glass sufficient light found entrance to reveal the interior.

The chair before the table was overturned, and there were papers scattered about the deck.

Estada lay in his bunk, with one leg dangling outside, and his head crooked against the side wall.

His very posture was that of sudden death, even had it not been pictured by the ghastly face, peculiarly hideous in the gray light which stared at us, and the dark pool of blood underneath.