The work might be uncongenial to a man of Hilton Riddell’s tastes and temperament. But it had to be done, and he was not one to shirk his responsibilities because they happened to be distasteful. So he occupied himself up in the chart-room, unconscious of the fact that his berth was being searched all over. The searchers found enough to convince them of his real identity. They also made the discovery that it must have been he who wished to sail as passenger in the “Merry Maid,” but whom Captain Cochrane, in obedience to Mr. Stavanger’s request that he would carry no passenger but Hugh, had declined to take. There was the long red moustache, and there was the checked tweed suit worn by the would-be passenger, whose career was to be so soon ended. It was singular that the lock of the steward’s door should have gone wrong, and that when he went to bed that night he could not turn the key, as was his wont on retiring. “I must put that right to-morrow,” he thought. Then, believing himself to be unsuspected, and therefore in no danger, he went to bed, and, being very tired, soon dropped into a sound slumber. At 12 p.m. the chief mate was waiting impatiently for the second mate to come and relieve him, for he felt as if he could keep his eyes open no longer. The longest spell off watch that the mates of a merchant cargo steamer ever have is four hours. From this four hours must be deducted half an hour for a wash and a meal, leaving three and a half hours as the utmost length of time they have for sleep. As a rule, they no sooner lay their heads upon their pillows than they fall asleep, and the two men who were scheming against the steward’s safety meant to take advantage of this fact. To all appearance they had gone to bed. In reality, they were never more keenly on the alert, and, in the absence of both mates, they were tolerably safe, as they knew how to choose their moment for action. They waited until they heard the second mate ascend the companion to relieve his superior. Then they swiftly and noiselessly entered the steward’s berth, closing the door after them. But, careful as their movements had been, they startled the sleeper, who attempted to spring up in his bunk. There was a sudden blow, a stifled cry, and a short but sharp struggle, at the end of which Hilton Riddell lay passive and lifeless in the hands of his assassins, who had deemed strangulation the safest way to silence their victim. When, about two minutes later, the mate came off watch, all was quiet in the steward’s berth. But the two men stood gazing at each other with horror-stricken eyes, and instinctively turned their backs upon the awful object which but a few moments ago had been full of life and strength.