"What's happened?" cried Locke.
"He killum cap'n," said Shanghai Tom, and stooping down, picked up a knife. It was a long knife from the galley rack.
Marjorie ran from the cabin, overcome with horror, and Trask followed, with the intention of getting the long boat away to save Dinshaw. But as he paused, poised on the bulwark to jump down into the boat, he looked aft. There was no trace of Dinshaw.
"Go to the taffrail and look," he called to Marjorie. She hastened to the poop-deck while he got the boat off, which swung with the tide, and drifted aft as he paddled with the big oar, standing in the stern.
For an instant there was a white object visible against the dark water, as if a fish had broken the surface. Whatever it was, it was being swept away swiftly by the tide. Before Trask could reach the spot where it had appeared, the water was smoothed out in a steely sheen. Dinshaw had been whirled away to the coral depths below.
It was growing dark as Trask rowed back. As he came alongside the schooner he saw Locke standing beside Marjorie.
"Dead," said Locke.
From shore there came a confused chorus of cries. Trask listened, and across the darkening waters he saw a white spot drifting out slowly, and then in the evening hush heard the clatter of oars.
"The cartridges!" he cried. "They're coming out, Peth and the others. With Jarrow dead, we've a fight on our hands!"
He leaped over the bulwark, and dashed into Jarrow's cabin, to regain the ammunition he had surrendered. A blazing match revealed Jarrow lying on his back, his face distorted and spotted. Trask found the cartridges loose in the captain's coat pocket, and hurried out of the cabin.