The cabin was brilliantly lit 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 of 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 ladies’ 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 gray 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 hard and bloodless. Both anger and alarm were depicted upon his rugged countenance. His appearance was mysterious, to say the least, but it was a further object I saw within that place which held me in speechless wonderment. Beside where he stood, lying in a heap at his feet, was a dark-haired, handsome woman of mature age, who was dressed in a white serge robe--a stranger. The old millionaire, with sudden movement, flung himself upon his knees and touched her face caressingly. 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 though it would hurl me beyond 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. Keppel touched the woman again, placing his hand upon her face. When he withdrew it I saw that blood was upon it. He looked at it and, shuddering, wiped it off upon his handkerchief. At the same instant a voice, that of a man, sounded from the opposite side of the cabin, saying: “Don’t you see that that ventilator is open up above? Shut it, or somebody may see us. They can see down here from the bridge.” “Think of her,” the old man exclaimed in a low voice, “not of us.” “Of her? Why should I?” inquired the gruff voice of the unseen. “You’ve killed her, and must take the consequences.” “I?” gasped the old man, staggering unevenly to his feet, and placing both hands to his eyes as though to shut out from view that hideous evidence of his crime. “Yes,” he cried in an awe-stricken tone, “she is dead!”