"Have I permission to go on shore, Captain Brace?" inquired Bill Sturdy on the following morning.

"I shall require your services on board during the day," said the captain, acting in accordance with the suggestion and arrangements of the mate. "At nightfall you can go if you like."

Charlie, learning from Bill Sturdy, the result of his application, did not prefer a request till evening. His request was unceremoniously refused. The Captain had no desire that our young hero should be present at the assault upon Bill, as his presence might prevent the attack being made, and its success, in consequence of Sturdy's great strength, depended on its unexpectedness.

"Never mind," said Bill, in a low voice, "wait till midnight. Meanwhile I will be seeking out a proper place of concealment. When the Cathedral clock strikes midnight, rise quietly and take a bundle of clothes, if you can do it unobserved, and jump upon the wharf. I will be waiting for you."

Cheered by this hope, Charlie was content to wait.

He went below, and opening his chest, put together in a bundle the clothes which he had on when he went on board the vessel for the first time. His little preparation having now been made, he sat down and commenced a letter to his mother which it was his purpose to mail in the city, to be completed when the result of his attempt to escape should be known.

We must now follow the movements of the villain with whom Randall had conferred. He had no idea of failing to carry out his part of the contract. Aside from the pecuniary inducement, his savage temper and utter want of principle, made him rather court such adventures, even for their own sake. Just before nightfall he stationed himself at a point on the wharf where he would have an opportunity of observing all that went on board the vessel.

With his keen eyes he scrutinized the forms of the sailors with a view of verifying Randall's description, and so picking out the one who was destined to be his victim. Circumstances conspired to lead him to a wrong conclusion upon this point.

Bill Sturdy was, at that time, below, making preparations to go on shore. It has already been remarked, that previous to his enrolment among the crew, Antonio had been, physically the most powerful among them. Although inferior to Bill Sturdy, yet he possessed a formidable amount of strength, and on board most vessels might have challenged comparison with any. But if Antonio was one in a hundred, Sturdy was one in a thousand. Seldom, very seldom, is there concentrated in the human frame so much power as he possessed. He would not have been found unequal to the feats of strength which have made famous the name of Richard Coeur de Lion, the English king, who won, in so remarkable a degree, the chivalrous respect and affection of the English people, and whose feats still live in the pages of the greatest of modern romances.

Antonio was, in form, not altogether unlike Bill Sturdy. At all events, the resemblance was so great that the mate's description of Sturdy might easily be supposed to apply to him. Hence, when the Brazilian cast a scrutinizing glance over the persons of the crew, he at once selected Antonio as the one intended.

"That is the fellow," he muttered. "He looks powerful, but my good knife will prevent his being dangerous to me, provided I steal upon him from behind, and give him one sharp, decisive blow."

Bill Sturdy was not the only one permitted to go on shore that evening. Several others had similar permission extended to them, leaving behind only enough to keep the proper watch on board the vessel.

A company, including Antonio, left the vessel together some five minutes before Bill Sturdy made his appearance. The Brazilian, fixing his attention upon him, followed them at a little distance, cautiously avoiding the appearance of doing so, lest he might attract observation. He did not expect to carry out his design at present, partly because it was not yet dark, and partly also because he wished to wait till Antonio was alone. He was resolved to keep him in view, for hours, if need be, until a favorable opportunity should present itself for the commission of the crime he meditated.

The first place the men visited was a low drinking saloon, situated on a street considered hardly reputable. It was not long before they became noisy and drunk.

One by one they staggered out of the drinking-saloon. Among the last to go was Antonio. He had probably drank more than any of his comrades, but he had a strong head, and showed his potations less in his gait than many of the rest. He walked out with a steady step, somewhat to the disappointment of the Brazilian, who had been keeping vigilant guard, and relied upon the effects of the liquor to make him an easier conquest.

It was already dark, but the street was too public, and he would be too liable to interruption and detection to make it prudent to attack at present. He therefore cautiously followed Antonio, hoping that he would presently turn into some narrow lane or alley.

In this hope he was not disappointed. At a little distance there was a narrow alley leading from the street in which Antonio was now walking to another of equal size. Antonio stood a little doubtful at the entrance, but finally entered. If he had only known that there was one close upon his heels, who was tracking him with the keenness of an Indian upon the trail of his foeman, he might have hesitated before entering what, to him, was destined to prove "the pass of death."

But he did not know this.

The alley was a long one, little frequented at that hour, and unlighted. Cautiously behind the doomed sailor walked the hired assassin. And now Antonio is nearly midway. Between them there is a distance of fifty feet. Over this interval creeps the murderer with noiseless feet. Then, snatching the ever-ready knife from his girdle, he lifts his hand, and the descending knife is buried in the back of Antonio, entering just below his neck. He sank to the ground with a convulsive shudder, and a sharp cry of pain.

The Brazilian stood over him. Antonio looked up into his face, supposing it might be Bill Sturdy, whose enmity he judged by his own.

And the thought came to him.

Half lifting himself from the ground with his last remaining strength, he ejaculated, feebly, "Were you hired to do this?"

"I was," said the assassin, briefly.

Antonio could have but one thought as to the one who had instigated the murder. He was satisfied it was Bill, and that thought made death doubly bitter.

With a curse upon his lips, a bitter malediction upon his rival, he died.

Quickly stripping his victim of whatever he had about him worth taking, his murderer crept away.