Huddled in a heap in the canoe, was a Chinaman who did not seem to be more than thirty years of age. His head, nearly severed from his body, had fallen forward until it hung close to the dead man’s chest. It was only by turning the head that Ensign Darrin was able to see the face, on which there still lingered a look of terror.
“A Chinese tong-fight or a gang murder,” Dave told himself, in keen disgust.
Then climbing up over the side he sent an orderly to summon the executive officer.
Less than three minutes later Lieutenant Warden, fully dressed, and wearing his sword, walked briskly out upon the quarter-deck.
The executive officer listened intently while Ensign Darrin made his report with conciseness.
“I’ll take a look at the body,” said Mr. Warden, and went down over the side. He came up again, horror written in every line of his face.
“A cowardly killing, Ensign Darrin,” declared the executive officer. “Notify the Manila police by wireless.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“Call me again, if I am needed.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”