i came to the surface, fighting for breath, my hands battling fruitlessly at the slimy side of the ship, which slid past as relentlessly as the passage of time. i tried to cry out, but the salt water choked me. not a sound came from the decks above. the blackness was absolute, except for the mild gleam of a watch-lanthorn on the poop.

danger and the peril of death often have been my lot, but never in all my life—no, not even when the keepers of the trail had bound me to the torture-stake—have i experienced the abysmal fear which clutched my heart as i struggled to save myself from the chilling waters whose numbing embrace was throttling my vitality no less surely than the long arms which had cast me overboard.

death was only a brace of minutes away—not death from drowning, but death from the bitter cold that paralyzed my limbs and smote my heart. in the mad desperation of my fear i heaved myself waist-high out of the water, hands clutching and clawing for the support which reason must have denied me to expect.

i was sinking beneath a smooth-running wave along the counter when my fingers came in contact with a dripping rope, which slipped through their grip and lashed me in the face. this time i did contrive to cry out, a brief, choked yell of exultation. my hands possessed themselves of it again, and i rove a loose knot in the end.

had i dared, i would have rested myself in this loop before beginning to attempt the climbing of the mossy wall of the ship's side; but the coldness of the water forbade it. only by the utmost power of will could i force myself to the necessary effort. a few moments' delay, and i should be incapable of action.

with teeth clinched i drew myself upward along the rope, thrusting forward with my feet for purchase against the side. sometimes i slipped on the wet planks, and then i was put to it to hold my position. but after i withdrew my body from the water, what with the urgency of my effort and the stimulation of the exercise, some degree of my strength returned; and presently i was able to pull myself up the rope, hand over hand, until i reached a small projecting structure at the level of the deck to which was fastened the starboard rigging of the mainmast. how i blessed the untidy seamanship of captain abbot, which would have aroused the wrath of any true sailor, no doubt.

on this bit of a platform i rested myself, below the level of the bulwarks, one arm thrust round a tautened stay. and now for the first time i gave thought to my experience. i suppose that at the most not more than five minutes had elapsed since i had been heaved overboard, and obviously no one had witnessed the incident, for the deck was as quiet and deserted as it had been when i was attacked.

who had done it? i accepted as a primary fact the impossibility that it could have been one of the crew. i had speaking acquaintance with only two of them, captain abbot, himself, and master ringham, the second mate, a taciturn devon man, whose conversation consisted of curses, grunts and monosyllables. neither could have any grudge against me.

no, i must seek the assailant in the camp of my known enemies, and those immense, twining arms could belong only to the ape-like negro. with the realization, hot blood drummed in my ears. i scrambled over the bulwark in a flash, and crouched down upon the deck to survey the situation. it was one against three—no, four, i reflected bitterly; for i made no doubt the girl would array herself against me. i must have some weapon.

i looked around me, noting that the watch were all ensconced upon the forecastle or the poop. then i remembered that ranged around the bottoms of the masts were long handbars of wood, iron-tipped, which were used in making fast the sail-ropes. i ran across to the mainmast and tore one from its slot.

nobody had yet seen me in the pitch darkness, and i stole across the deck to the door which gave entrance to the poop, my water-soaked shoes quite soundless. the door was ajar, and i opened it very carefully, listening to the murmur of voices in the main cabin. there was no light in the passage which led to the main cabin from the foot of the shallow stairs that descended from the deck level; but the main cabin itself was brilliantly lighted by several lanthorns.

murray and de veulle were sitting on the bench which ran across the stern, the table in front of them littered with cards. murray, a look of placid satisfaction on his face, was pouring rum into two glasses. de veulle was laughing as if he had listened to the merriest tale in the world. so much i saw when the entrance into the main cabin was darkened by the body of the negro, tom.

he saw me descending the stairs, and apparently took me to be one of the officers coming off watch. at any rate, he stepped back into the main cabin and stood there, waiting to give me room. the passage was not more than fifteen or sixteen feet long, and as i approached him i smelled again that rancid, musky odor—the body smell, as i afterward discovered, of the savage, black or red—which had overwhelmed my nostrils just before i was pitched over the side.

'twas that decided me. i took a firm grip on my improvised club, and, stepping into the pool of light in the main cabin, swung square around, face to face with tom. he threw up both hands and staggered back with a wild scream of terror, eyes popping from his ashen-gray face.

i gave him no time for recovery, but brought down the iron-tipped end of the handbar with all my force across his skull. the blow would have killed any save a black man. i meant it to kill him. as it was, he dropped like a slaughtered ox, and lay in a crumpled heap of tawdry finery on the floor.

doors banged in the passage, and i stepped to one side, setting my back to the bulkhead, the while i fastened my eyes upon the startled amazement with which murray and de veulle regarded me. 'twas murray recovered first.

"zooks," he remarked, taking snuff with his usual precision. "it seems that tom is growing in the way of making mistakes."

"aye, and such mistakes are like to react upon others," i replied fiercely.

"if i were a refugee from justice, i should be careful how i threatened law-abiding subjects," he answered calmly. "well, well, it seems we have more company."

i followed his glance to the passage, where stood the girl of the green cloak, whilst over her shoulder peered the square, puzzled features of my silent cabinmate, master ringham.

the girl said nothing, her eyes shifting gravely from one to the other of us. but master ringham's official status got the better of his distaste for words.

"what hath happened?" he asked. "is the negro dead!"

"i think so," i said. "he—"

"not he," corrected murray cheerfully. "you know not tom, good master ormerod. he hath a skull on him can only be opened with blasting-powder."

"it matters little," i returned. "the rascal attacked me above, master ringham. i pursued him down here. there is naught more to be said. i will settle with his master."

the second mate looked questioningly toward murray. i hated to compromise so, but i had not missed the veiled threat he had addressed to me nor his use of the name ormerod. remember, i was still known to the crew as juggins.

i was uncertain what attitude the captain might take if he was told that i was a political refugee. there might be a reward at stake—and sailors were human like other men. what was one man's life to them—and he a stranger—if so many hundred pounds would purchase it!

"why, that is fairly spoken," rejoined murray, somewhat to my surprize. "i know naught of the circumstances, master ringham, but perhaps i may settle with our friend here. as for the negro, i will attend to him."

"and the captain?" questioned the second mate uncertainly.

"oh, i see no reason why we should bother master abbot at this juncture. there will be time enough if we fail to agree upon the issue."

"there must be no more violence," warned ringham, his eyes on me, his words addressed to all of us.

"violence!" rejoined murray jovially. "let us reject the idea altogether. why should we disdain sweet reason's rule? eh? master orm—er—juggins?"

i bowed ironically.

"if there is any further disagreement captain abbot shall be called," i said to ringham. "that i promise you."

ringham nodded and clumped back to his bunk, doubtless relieved at not being required to surrender more of his time off-watch. but the girl stood her ground, her eyes accusing all of us.

"well, marjory," said murray pleasantly, "and do you plan to join in our debate?"

that was the first time i heard her name, and—why, i can not say—i heard it without surprise, as if i had always known it to be hers. it suited her, as names sometimes express the character and appearance of their possessors.

"what hath happened?" she asked in the same words the second mate had used.

"you have heard," said murray.

she shook her head.

"that is not all. this—" she hesitated—"gentleman's clothes are wet. tom does not attack people without orders."

murray shrugged his shoulders. de veulle answered her, leaning across the table, his eyes burning with hatred for me.

"you know what this man hath done, mademoiselle," he cried. "you know his record in the past. you know that he comes with us to spy out our plans, to thwart, if may be, what we undertake to do. is any fate too hard for him? why should you concern yourself?"

his voice grew coaxing.

"'tis no matter for ladies' soft hands to dabble in."

"then there has been fighting?" she asked.

i could stand it no longer.

"fighting!" i snapped. "aye, if you call assassination fighting. an attack in the dark upon an unarmed man, throwing him overboard to drown as you might a blind puppy, never a chance for his life!"

"yet you are here, sir?" she said quietly.

"'tis only by the intervention of providence that i was saved—or the untidiness of our captain, who left a rope trailing over the side."

i grew sarcastic.

"you were pleased to say today that it was proof of a god in heaven that i had suffered misfortune. sure, will you deny that the same god hath protected me against your father's——"

"my father!" she repeated questioningly.

"well, what is he!" i returned cuttingly. "mayhap you have some pet name for a parent who practises assassination."

"you have no right to say that, sir," she said with spirit.

"no right! did not you yourself say tom never acted without orders!"

"but——"

"and furthermore, if this case is not enough, let me tell you that this man here"—i pointed to murray; for some reason i disliked to call him her father, even in wrath—"set a gang of ruffians to murder a friend of mine in london."

"do you know that for a fact, sir!" die demanded with her unflinching gravity.

"i do."

murray rose from his seat behind the table.

"your proof, sir?" he asked coldly.

"proof!" i answered weakly. "why, i was there!"

"aye, sir," he rejoined with dignity. "but your proof that i hired assassins?"

i was silent.

"as for tom," he continued, "if he had drowned you i do not believe that i should have wept many tears. you are in my way, sir. but you have no reason to assume from my daughter's casual words that i was accomplice to his acts. could you prove it before the captain or any court of law?"

i saw the twinkle in his eyes and knew that he was playing with me.

"no," said i shortly; "i could not prove it, even against him. i have no witnesses."

"and you could not even go into a court of law," he pursued, "for you are an outlaw, denied benefit of law or clergy."

"yes," i flared in answer; "and you, sir, what think you might be your fate in new york if i denounced you to governor burnet for attempted murder! would he make use of the opportunity—or no!"

the realization of this trump card i held had come to me in a flash of inspiration. now it lay face up for all to see, and there could be no doubt it gave my enemies cause for uneasiness. murray regarded me thoughtfully; a worried look replaced the cynical satisfaction with which de veulle had watched my badgering; the bewilderment upon marjory's face was deepened.

"i do not think i am so weakly situated as you had supposed," i mocked them. "aye, you may denounce me to the captain for a jacobite conspirator, and it may be he will see fit to believe you. you are three to my one. but when we reach new york, and i am brought before the officers of the crown, i may have a different story to tell. think you the governor would be loath to implicate a french officer and the man who is leading the fight against his struggle to control the fur-trade?"

murray nodded his head slowly, and sank back in his seat.

"sure, you are a lad after my own heart," he said. "that was well thought of. 'tis checkmate—for this present."

"nonsense," stormed de veulle. "why should we fear his trumpery tales? who are we to be denounced by him?"

"because i know somewhat of governor burnet," replied murray good-humoredly. "nay, chevalier, i dislike to yield my point as much as any man; but master ormerod hath stopped us. we must have a truce."

but he reckoned without marjory. the lady of the green cloak stood forward in the center of the cabin, passionate indignation shaking her whole figure.

"oh, why do you talk like this?" she exclaimed. "are we criminals that we must bargain with a criminal? it is as if we were embarked upon an enterprise as vile as his life of spying and intrigue!"

i had not made any headway in regaining her good opinion, 'twas evident, and that must be the excuse for my barbed retort.

"you show unwonted sensibility, my lady," i said. "sure, no men with good consciences would stoop to bargain with such as i."

"i fear me, marjory," said murray gently, "that you have no appreciation of the tangled path which must be trod by those who concern themselves with affairs of state. the good and the bad are strangely intermingled. sometimes we must consort with those we despise in order to gain a good cause. sometimes we must use tools which irk us to fashion a policy to a righteous end. sometimes we must stoop to tricks and plays which soil and shame.

"it can not be otherwise. and after all, what does it matter that you and i have cause to regret, if we may see the attainment of our goal? shall we regret the payment of a bitter price? 'twould be parsimonious, i say. 'tis not we who count, who are but pawns; but the cause we serve."

"i like it not," she flamed.

"like it or not, 'tis inevitable."

he turned to me.

"it seems then, master ormerod, that we must proclaim a truce for the time being."

"it is your necessity," i told him flatly.

"and yours," he returned urbanely. "what guarantees shall we exchange?"

i thought.

"why, we can neither afford to risk the denunciation of the other," i said at last. "you, because you know that the provincial government would seize any excuse to incommode you. i, because i know that the provincial government would find it difficult to protect me against your charge, even though it exploited mine."

"the advantage would seem to be on my side," he remarked tentatively.

i leaned across the table so that his eyes met mine fully.

"not so much as you might think," i asserted. "have i the look of one who would fail in a desperate venture?"

"no, no," he answered smilingly. "so be it, then. but the truce holds good only for the period of our voyage together?"

"that is understood," i agreed.

his eyes hardened.

"did you ever hear of the red death and the black death, master ormerod!"

i shook my head, puzzled.

"you have met the black death. you have yet to meet the red death. and you may meet the black death again," he added as tom groaned where he lay on the floor.

marjory shuddered.

"enough of this!" she exclaimed. "is it understood there is to be no killing on this ship?"

"it is, my dear," murray responded. "and now i think you had best withdraw. this has been a trying interview for you, i fear."

she looked from one to the other of us, as if half in doubt; and then gathered her cloak around her. we all three, as with one accord, bowed low as she stepped into the passage.

murray opened a lanthorn and snuffed the candle within.

"you must be weary, master ormerod," he said solicitously. "it hath been a trying evening for you too, i fear."

"ah, the devil played a strong hand, master juggins," de veulle chimed in, with a yawn. "you do not object to your old name, i hope? it fits you like a snug shirt."

"not in the least," i retorted. "'tis an honest name. you will note, i hope, that the devil, as always, was checkmated, even though he had two of the minor fiends of darkness at his elbow."

murray laughed, the fine, resonant laugh of a well-bred, honorable gentleman.

"zooks, chevalier, have done. the man hath a rare metal."

"if wit fails, try small-swords," i suggested as i left the cabin.