Then there was but one to suspect--Silva Sanchez! I stood there dumb, gazing at the dead man, realizing all this dimly, yet conscious only of thankfulness that the victim had not been Dorothy Fairfax.
"He's dead, sir," growled Watkins, turning the fellow over with his foot, until the ghastly face stared up at the deck beams overhead.
"Stabbed to the heart frum behind.

Look a yere--that wus sum slash.
Who, the hell do yer suppose did it ?" "That is ours to find out.

The deed has just been done, for blood is still flowing.

Let him alone Watkins and come with me--the murderer can't be far off." I flung open the pantry door, but one glance inside told me that Gunsaules had vanished.

On the deck lay the strands of rope with which he had been secured---they had been severed by a sharp knife, the ends discolored with blood stains.