“Get up, then! Dress quickly in those clothes, and come out on deck. By the side of your bunk you will find tins of black and white paint to smear your face and hands. At the slightest refusal on your part to do as I bid you—if you utter a cry or make any noise to attract attention—I shall kill you without another word.”
The soft voice had a steely ring in it which persuaded the man from Argentina that he had better obey. In less than five minutes he emerged from the doorway. The corridor in which his cabin was situated led into the saloon. Elsie awaited him. A lamp, dimly lighting the gangway, revealed her face. Suarez thought he had to deal with a mad-woman. The dog, standing by her side, sniffed at him gingerly, but a muttered “Be quiet, Joey!” prevented any outburst, every fox-terrier being a born conspirator.
“What do you wish me to do, señorita?” began Suarez, thinking to placate her until he could obtain assistance.
“You must obey me in silence,” she whispered tensely. “You must not even speak. One syllable aloud on deck will mean your death. Walk in front of me, up the main companion, and go straight to the ship’s side.”
“But, señorita!—”
The hammer of the revolver began to rise under the pressure of Elsie’s finger on the trigger. The man’s hair rose even more rapidly. His nerve was broken. He turned along the corridor in front of her, not knowing the instant a bullet might crash into his head. The girl followed so closely that she almost touched his heels. The dog would have trotted in front, but she recalled him.
When Suarez reached the port rail of the promenade deck, Elsie breathed:
“Climb, quickly, and go down into the canoe by the rope ladder you will find there.”
“The canoe!” gasped he.
“Quick! One, two,—”