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“It was a wretched night that we spent on the top of that after house. It began to rain before midnight, the heavy drops coming down almost in solid waves; then came wind, out of the south, cold and biting, with real waves, that rolled even over the house, forcing us to lash ourselves. The red glow to the north was hidden by the rain and spume, and, to add to our discomfort, we were showered with ashes, which, even though the surface wind was from the south, must have been brought from the north by an upper air current.

“We did not find the dead man when the faint daylight came; and so could not tell whether or not he had used his knife. His body must have washed over the rail with a sea, and we hoped the invisible killer had gone, too. But we hoped too much. With courage born of this hope a man went forward to lower the masthead lights, prodding his way with the pike pole.

“We watched him closely, the pole in one hand, his knife in the other. But he went under at the fore rigging without even a yell, and the pole went with him, while we could see, even at the distance and through the disturbed water, that his arms were close to his sides, and that he made no movement, except for the quick darting to and fro. After a few moments, however, the pike pole floated to the surface, but the man’s body, drained, no doubt, of its buoyant fluids, remained on the deck.

“It was an hour later, with the pike pole for a feeler, before we dared approach the body, hook on to it, and tow it aft. It resembled that of the first victim, a skeleton clothed with skin, with the same look of horror on the face. We buried it like the other, and held to the poop, still drenched by the downpour of rain, hammered by the seas, and choked by ashes from the sky.

“As the shower of ashes increased it became dark as twilight, and though the three lights aloft burned out at about midday, I forbade a man to go forward to lower them, contenting myself with a turpentine flare lamp that I brought up from the lazaret, and filled, ready to show if the lights of a craft came in view. Before the afternoon was half gone it was dark as night, and down below, up to his waist in water, the German professor was working away.

“He came up at supper time, humming cheerfully to himself, and announced that he had replaced his camera lens with the rock crystal, that the lantern, with its reflector and a blue spark in the focus, made an admirable instrument for throwing the invisible rays on the beast, and that he was all ready, except that his plates, which he had resensitized–with some phosphorescent substance that I forget the name of, now–must have time to dry. And then, he needed some light to work by when the time came, he explained.

“‘Also another victim,’ I suggested bitterly; for he had not been on deck when the last two men had died.

“‘I hope not,’ he said. ‘When we can see, it may be possible to stir him up by throwing things forward; then when he moves der water we can take shots.’

“‘Better devise some means of killing him,’ I answered. ‘Shooting won’t do, for water stops a bullet before it goes a foot into it.’

“‘Der only way I can think of,’ he responded, ‘is for der next man–you hear me all, you men–to stick your knife at the end of the blood–where it collects in a lump. Dere is der creature’s stomach, and a vital spot.’

“‘Remember this, boys,’ I laughed, thinking of the last poor devil, with his arms pinioned to his side. ‘When you’ve lost enough blood to see it in a lump, stab for it.’