In the applause that followed, and the clicking of glasses, Senor Perkins slipped away. He mingled a moment with some of the other guests who had already withdrawn to the corridor, lit a cigar, and then passed through a narrow doorway on to the ramparts. Here he strolled to some distance, as if in deep thought, until he reached a spot where the crumbling wall and its fallen debris afforded an easy descent into the ditch. Following the ditch, he turned an angle, and came upon the beach, and the low sound of oars in the invisible offing. A whistle brought the boat to his feet, and without a word he stepped into the stern sheets. A few strokes of the oars showed him that the fog had lifted slightly from the water, and a green light hanging from the side of the Excelsior could be plainly seen. Ten minutes' more steady pulling placed him on her deck, where the second officer stood with a number of the sailors listlessly grouped around him. "The landing has been completed?" said Senor Perkins interrogatively. "All except one boat-load more, which waits to take your final instructions," said the mate. "The men have growled a little about it," he added, in a lower tone. "They don't want to lose anything, it seems," he continued, with a half sarcastic laugh. Senor Perkins smiled peculiarly. "I am sorry to disappoint them. Who's that in the boat?" he asked suddenly. The mate followed the Senor's glance. "It is Yoto. He says he is going ashore, and you will not forbid him." Senor Perkins approached the ship's side. "Come here," he said to the man. The Peruvian sailor rose, but did not make the slightest movement to obey the command. "You say you are going ashore?" said Perkins blandly. "Yes, Patrono." "What for?" "To follow him--the thief, the assassin--who struck me here;" he pointed to his head. "He has escaped again with his booty." "You are very foolish, my Yoto; he is no thief, and has no booty. They will put YOU in prison, not him." "YOU say so," said the man surlily. "Perhaps they will hear me--for other things," he added significantly. "And for this you would abandon the cause?" The man shrugged his shoulders. "Why not?" he glanced meaningly at two of his companions, who had approached the side; "perhaps others would. Who is sending the booty ashore, eh?" "Come out of that boat," said the Senor, leaning over the bulwarks with folded arms, and his eyes firmly fixed on the man. The man did not move. But the Senor's hand suddenly flew to the back of his neck, smote violently downwards, and sent eighteen inches of glittering steel hurtling through the air. The bowie-knife entered the upturned throat of the man and buried itself halfway to the hilt. Without a gasp or groan he staggered forward, caught wildly at the side of the ship, and disappeared between the boat and the vessel.