Again that deadly pallor flashed across his face. Bell caught at his arm.
"What is the matter?" he demanded anxiously. "Of course I'll help you."
Ortiz smiled very faintly.
"If any airplane arrives in time," he said steadily, "something may be done. But you have rid me of even that hope. I have been poisoned, Senor Bell."
"But the ship's doctor. . . ."
Ortiz, walking rather stiffly beside Bell, shrugged.
"He can do nothing. Will you be good enough to open this door for me? And"—his voice was hoarse for an instant—"assist me to put my hands in my pockets. I cannot. But I would not like them to be seen."
Bill took bold of the writhing fingers. He saw sweat standing out upon Ortiz's forehead. And the fingers closed savagely upon Bell's hands, tearing at them. Ortiz looked at him with a ghastly supplication.
"Now," he said with difficulty, "if you will open the door, Senor Bell. . . ."
Bell slid the door aside. They Went in together. People were making the best of boresome weather within, frankly yawning, most of them. But the card-room would be full, and the smoking-room steward would be busy.
"My cabin is upon the next deck below," said Ortiz through stiff lips. "We—we will descend the stairs."
BELL went with him, his face expressionless.
"My cabin should be unlocked," said Ortiz.
It was. Ortiz entered, and, with his hands still in his pockets, indicated a steamer-trunk.
"Please open that." He licked his lips. "I—I had thought I would have warning enough. It has not been so severe before. Right at the top. . . ."
Bell flung the top back. A pair of bright and shiny handcuffs lay on top of a dress shirt.
"Yes," said Ortiz steadily. "Put them upon my wrists, please. The poison that has been given me is—peculiar. I believe that one of your compatriots has experienced its effects."
Bell started slightly. Ortiz eyed him steadily.
"Precisely." Ortiz, with his face a gray mask of horror, spoke with a steadiness Bell could never have accomplished. "A poison, Senor Bell, which has made a member of the Secret Service of the United States a homicidal maniac. It has been given to me. I have been hoping for its antidote, but—Quick! Senor Bell! Quick! The handcuffs!"
CHAPTER II
THE throbbing of the engines went on at an unvarying tempo. There was the slight, almost infinitesimal tremor of their vibration. The electric light in the cabin wavered rythmically with its dynamo. From the open porthole came the sound of washing water. Now and then a disconnected sound of laughter or of speech came down from the main saloon.
Ortiz lay upon the bed, exhausted.
"It is perhaps humorous, Senor Bell," he said presently, in the same steady voice he had used upon the deck. "It is undoubtedly humorous that I should call upon you. I believe that you are allied with the Secret Service of your government."
Bell started to shake his head, but was still. He said nothing.
"I am poisoned," said Ortiz. He tried to smile, but it was ghastly. "It is a poison which makes a man mad in a very horrible fashion. If I could use my hands—and could trust them—I would undoubtedly shoot myself. It would be entirely preferable. Instead, I hope—"
He broke off short and listened intently. His forehead beaded.
"Is that an airplane motor?"
Bell went to the port and listened. The washing of waves. The throbbing of the ship's engines. The dismal,
