"I saw you speak to Senor Ortiz," she said quietly. "You see?"
Bell was beginning to have a peculiar, horrible suspicion. It was incredible, but it was inevitable.
"I think I see," he said harshly. "But I don't dare believe it. Keep quiet and don't speak to me unless I give you some sign it's safe! It's—hellish!"
He went inside and swiftly down the stairs. He found a steward hesitating outside the door of Ortiz's cabin. He touched Bell's arm anxiously as he was about to go in.
"Beg pardon, sir," he said, and stammered. "I—I heard Mr. Ortiz making some—very strange noises, sir. I—I thought he was sick...."
"He is," said Bell grimly. "He told me he does not want a doctor, though. I'm looking after him."
He closed the door behind him, and Ortiz grinned at him. It was a horrible, a terrible grin, and Ortiz fought it from his face with a terrific effort of will. There was foam about his lips.
ios! It was—it was devilish!" he gasped. "Senor Bell, amigo mio, for the love of the good God get my revolver from my trunk. Give it to me...."