"I told them," he said steadily, "I told them it was not wise to risk...." * * * * * He stopped. He looked suddenly at his hands, clenched upon the rail. A depth of pallor even greater than his previous terrible paleness seemed to leave even his lips without blood. He wavered on his feet, as if he were staggering. "You're sick!" said Bell sharply. Instinctively he moved forward. The fine dark eyes regarded him oddly. And Ortiz suddenly took his hands from the railing of the promenade deck. He looked at his fingers detachedly. And Bell could see them writhing, opening and closing in a horribly sensate fashion, as if they were possessed of devils and altogether beyond the control of their owner. And he suddenly realized that the steady, grim regard with which Ortiz looked at his hands was exactly like the look he had seen upon a man's face once, when that man saw a venomous snake crawling toward him and had absolutely no weapon. Ortiz was looking at his fingers as a man might look at cobras at the ends of his wrists. Very calmly, but with a still, stunned horror. * * * * * He lifted his eyes to Bell. "I have no control over them," he said quietly. "My hands are useless to me, Senor Bell. I wonder if you will be good enough to assist me to my cabin." Again that deadly pallor flashed across his face. Bell caught at his arm. "What is the matter?" he demanded anxiously. "Of course I'll help you." Ortiz smiled very faintly. "If any airplane arrives in time," he said steadily, "something may be done. But you have rid me of even that hope. I have been poisoned, Senor Bell." "But the ship's doctor...." Ortiz, walking rather stiffly beside Bell, shrugged. "He can do nothing. Will you be good enough to open this door for me? And"--his voice was hoarse for an instant--"assist me to put my hands in my pockets. I cannot. But I would not like them to be seen." Bill took hold of the writhing fingers. He saw sweat standing out upon Ortiz's forehead. And the fingers closed savagely upon Bell's hands, tearing at them. Ortiz looked at him with a ghastly supplication. "Now," he said with difficulty, "if you will open the door, Senor Bell...." Bell slid the door aside. They went in together. People were making the best of boresome weather within, frankly yawning, most of them. But the card-room would be full, and the smoking-room steward would be busy. "My cabin is upon the next deck below," said Ortiz through stiff lips. "We--we will descend the stairs." * * * * * Bell went with him, his face expressionless. "My cabin should be unlocked," said Ortiz. It was. Ortiz entered, and, with his hands still in his pockets, indicated a steamer-trunk. "Please open that." He licked his lips. "I--I had thought I would have warning enough. It has not been so severe before. Right at the top...."