Bell flung the top back. A pair of bright and shiny handcuffs lay on top of a dress shirt. "Yes," said Ortiz steadily. "Put them upon my wrists, please. The poison that has been given to me is--peculiar. I believe that one of your compatriots has experienced its effects." Bell started slightly. Ortiz eyed him steadily. "Precisely." Ortiz, with his face a gray mask of horror, spoke with a steadiness Bell could never have accomplished. "A poison, Senor Bell, which has made a member of the Secret Service of the United States a homicidal maniac. It has been given to me. I have been hoping for its antidote, but--Quick! Senor Bell! Quick! The handcuffs!" CHAPTER II The throbbing of the engines went on at an unvarying tempo. There was the slight, almost infinitesimal tremor of their vibration. The electric light in the cabin wavered rhythmically with its dynamo. From the open porthole came the sound of washing water. Now and then a disconnected sound of laughter or of speech came down from the main saloon. Ortiz lay upon the bed, exhausted. "It is perhaps humorous, Senor Bell," he said presently, in the same steady voice he had used upon the deck. "It is undoubtedly humorous that I should call upon you. I believe that you are allied with the Secret Service of your government." Bell started to shake his head, but was still. He said nothing. "I am poisoned," said Ortiz. He tried to smile, but it was ghastly. "It is a poison which makes a man mad in a very horrible fashion. If I could use my hands--and could trust them--I would undoubtedly shoot myself. It would be entirely preferable. Instead, I hope--" He broke off short and listened intently. His forehead beaded. "Is that an airplane motor?" Bell went to the port and listened. The washing of waves. The throbbing of the ship's engines. The dismal, long-drawn-out moaning of the fog-horn. Nothing else.... Yes! A dim and distant muttering. It drew nearer and died away again. "That is a plane," said Bell. "Yes, It's out of hearing now." Ortiz clamped his jaws together. "I was about to speak," he said steadily, "to tell you--many things. Which your government should know. Instead, I ask you to go to the wireless room and have the wireless operator try to get in touch with that plane. It is a two-motored seaplane and it has a wireless outfit. It will answer the call M.S.T.R. Ask him to use his directional wireless and try to guide it to the ship. It brings the antidote to the poison which affects me." Bell made for the door. Ortiz raised his head with a ghastly smile. "Close the door tightly," he said quietly. "I--I feel as if I shall be unpleasant." * * * * * Closing the door behind him, Bell felt rather like a man in a nightmare. He made for the stairway, bolted for the deck, and fairly darted up the ladder to the wireless room. "Ortiz sent me," he said to the operator. "You heard that plane just now. See if you can get it."