“Señorita!”
“Sí?” she questioned.
“Take the fellow’s dagger from his girdle! Dip it in the blood on the floor! Have courage and act quickly! ’Twill appear as though you did it when he offered you insult!”
She realized what he meant, and was quick to obey. She needed the blood of the Pulidos to aid her now. Stooping, she reached out a hand and grasped the hilt of the dagger in the dead man’s belt. She drew it out, shuddered, turned her head away for a moment, faint at the sight of the blood.
“Courage!” Zorro’s whisper reached her ears. “And make haste, señorita! Some man may come!”
Now came the thing that tested her courage. But she felt that the eyes of Señor Zorro were upon her. Again she bent forward, and she bathed the blade of the dagger in the pool of blood upon the floor. Then she sprang to her feet, holding the dagger in her hand, her face white.
“Open the door,” Zorro whispered from beyond the partition, “and shriek!”
She hurried to the door, shuddering as she pulled her skirts away from the dead man. She opened it, and peered out. And the shriek that she gave was no acting, but the sudden outpouring of what she felt.
There was a moment of silence, and she shrieked yet again. And down from the deck tumbled Barbados, rage in his face. He looked at her and at the dagger in her hand. He thrust her aside and stepped into the cabin.
“So!” he said. “What has happened here?”