CHAPTER XIII
DISCLOSES A MILLIONAIRE'S SECRET
So heavily was the yacht rolling that I was compelled to hold firmly, lest I should lose my balance and roll down upon the deck.
My foothold was insecure, and the sight which presented itself as I peered within was so unexpected and startling, that in the excitement of the moment I loosened my grip, and narrowly escaped being pitched down headlong. From my position I unfortunately could not obtain a view of the whole interior, the ventilator being open only a couple of inches; but what I saw was sufficient to unnerve any woman.
The cabin was lit brilliantly by electricity, but the walls, instead of being panelled in satinwood, as were most of the others, were decorated in a manner more rich and magnificent than in any other part of the vessel. They were gilt, with white ornamentation in curious arabesques, while upon the floor was a thick Turkey carpet with a white ground and pattern of turquoise blue. The effect was bright and glaring, and at the first moment it occurred to me that the place was really a lady's boudoir. There was another aft, it was true, but this one had evidently been intended as a lounge for female guests. As I looked down, old Benjamin Keppel himself passed into that part of the cabin within the zone of my vision. His hat was off, displaying his scanty grey hair, and as he turned I caught a glimpse of his face. His countenance, usually so kind and tranquil, was distorted by abject fear; his teeth were set, his cheeks grey and bloodless. Both anger and alarm were depicted upon his rugged countenance. His appearance was mysterious, to say the least; but it was another object within that room which held me in speechless wonderment.
Near where he stood, lying in a heap at his feet, was a dark-haired, handsome woman, in a white silk robe—a stranger.
The old millionaire, with a sudden movement, flung himself upon his knees, and touched her face caressingly. The next instant he drew back his hand.
"Dead!" he gasped, in the thick voice of a man grief-stricken. "Dead! And she did not know—she did not know! It is murder!" he gasped, in a terrified whisper. "Murder!"
The wind howled about me weirdly, tearing at my clothes as if it desired to hurl me into the raging sea; while the yacht, steaming on, rose and plunged, shipping huge seas each time her bows met the angry waves.
For some moments the strange old man bent over the woman in silence. I was puzzled to discover her identity. Why had she been kept prisoner in that gilded cabin during the cruise? Why had we remained in total ignorance of her presence? I alone knew our host's secret. We had a dead woman on board.