The 'Ariadne's' propeller had begun to work, its rhythmical din seemed very near, and when he turned his head the green light on the starboard was only a few yards away; the yacht passed at half speed. Tom made a violent effort and the little boat lightly grazed the gleaming white side of the 'Ariadne.' The lifeboat still swung from the davits and the end of a rope dangled within his reach; he seized it and hauled himself up; the little row-boat disappeared from under his feet and went dancing off on the cool waters. He climbed the rail and tumbled down on the deck, where he lay with beating heart, expecting a cry of alarm to be raised; but none came. The quarter-deck was deserted, but, immediately in front of him, under an awning, he could see the stairs leading down to the cabins. A table and three basket-chairs stood by their side; further on was a shelter and over all rose the captain's bridge, whence came the sound of voices, the only signs of life he could detect on board at that moment.
The yacht was larger than one would have supposed, seeing it from the land. It was clearly quite an up-to-date vessel of 500 tons, fitted with wireless, installed between the two lofty masts; under the awning an electric lamp was burning.
Tom was just going to pick himself up when two figures emerged from the stairs. Doctor Corman and Ferail were both smoking and had their coat collars turned up as a protection against the fog.
"Well, yes, I was rather taken aback when I caught sight of that devil of a Swede on the headland," said Ferail, as if he were resuming an interrupted conversation. "I thought he had seen the rowing boat, but I made the men conceal it under the rocks, and when Wallion came down he looked rather surprised.... I could have laughed if I had had time."
The doctor growled out something and Ferail continued, "Yes, with the knife, but he snatched it from me, and I had to shoot him instead; the bullet hit him between the ribs and he fell backwards into the water ... the water there is pretty deep, so we need not worry about him any more." A guttural sound which might have been interpreted as a laugh escaped Ferail's throat. "I told the men that I had only been settling up old scores with one of those 'black ones,' and they thought...."
Corman and Ferail went out of earshot.
Tom felt a wild desire to hurl himself upon the criminal, but he pulled himself together. They ascended the bridge and disappeared.
Tom lay completely stupefied. It was true then, incontrovertibly true, that Maurice Wallion was dead ... yet every fiber in his body seemed to repudiate the idea; he felt it unreasonable to believe that his strong, cool, stout-hearted friend, after Sherlock Holmes the cleverest expert in criminal cases, could in a single moment have been silenced for ever by this Greek imposter, this despicable monster. He buried his face in his hands ...
"I don't understand what is going on, but at any rate I must try to pull myself together ... because now I must do the work of two."
He knew he was dead tired. Gradually the yacht put on full steam, and the ripple of the water on the bows melted into a steady swish-swish. Like a sword through the fog shone the white rays of a searchlight.