The ship Maxwell, Captain Roberts, homeward bound from Australia to New York, was bowling along upon her course under full sail.

It was a dark night, unrelieved save by the phosphor gleam of the seas around the vessel, and the light of the two lanterns hung up in the fore and mizzen rigging.

The Maxwell had one passenger—a gentleman named William Manton, who, having accumulated a fortune at Australia, was now returning to the United States, where his wife had died during his absence, but where he expected to find his daughter, Mary, and a young man of nineteen years old, living with an aunt in New York.

In an iron box the passenger carried his fortune—gold pieces, amounting in all to five hundred thousand dollars.

He kept the box locked up in his chest, which was provided with a patent lock, so arranged that it could not possibly be opened without a great deal of noise.

Occasionally Mr. Manton would go to this chest, and, taking out his money, look at it to see that all was safe. He was by no means either greedy or miserly; but he felt very anxious and careful about this money intended for his beloved child. That his death was not many years distant, he felt sure, as he had long suffered from an incurable complaint of the liver.

This might be detected now in his sallow skin, sunken cheeks, and hollow eyes, as in his room he bent over his box—counting the bright, yellow pieces of gold.

In every other respect, Mr. Manton was a fine looking old gentleman, being broad-shouldered and strong, with long arms, erect form, and piercing glance.

There was upon his face, at present, a look of intense satisfaction, as coin after coin, in hard, shining pieces passed through his hands.

"Ay," he muttered at length, "my girl will never be poor!"

As he spoke, a sudden chill passed through the old man's frame; a shudder as if an ice-bolt had come in contact with his body.

He could not divine the cause; but, had he taken pains to glance quickly behind him, up at a small opening in his door, he would have known that it was the magnetism of the pair of evil-looking eyes there which had chilled his blood.

The eyes belonged to a rough, square, dark-skinned face, the owner of which was the third mate, Mr. Brand—a man of Portuguese extraction, whom the captain had shipped at Australia, to take the place of his other third officer, lost overboard in a gale.

Brand was an excellent sailor, but a reckless, good-for-nothing fellow at heart; a cruel, bloody-thirsty wretch, who had committed almost every crime one can imagine, except murder!

Still it was evident the man had a conscience, as he would sometimes get to thinking of the evil course he had pursued, and resolve to reform.

Alas! for reformation! rum was his God, and in this he would soon drown all his better feelings, and keep getting worse and hardened until he grew to be a perfect devil!

Captain Roberts had known nothing of this when he shipped the third mate, who could play the hypocrite to perfection when he pleased. The fellow drank his rum in the privacy of his own apartment, and took good care never to appear on deck intoxicated, for Roberts was a stern, resolute, temperate man, who would never have forgiven his second officer for being drunk on duty.

It was now Brand's watch below. In his apartment he had heard the click of Mr. Manton's chest-lock; a noise which had saluted his ears, since leaving Australia more than once. Determined to ascertain the cause, he had emerged from his room in his stocking feet, and made his way to Manton's door as shown.

As he watched the old man counting his money; as he saw the glitter of those bright pieces, his mouth fairly watered, and a fearful purpose began to gather strength at his heart.

Having seen Manton return the little box to his chest, the third mate stole back to his berth, and lay a long time awake, endeavoring to plan a scheme for obtaining the money.

"Wouldn't like to take the old gent's life," he muttered; "and won't—no I won't; for bad as Dick Brand is, he has never yet murdered."

The more he thought, however, the less fearful became the idea of murder.

The gold—the broad glittering pieces of bright gold, threw a glimmer over the dark suggestion creeping into and gaining force over his mind!

Clink! clink! clink!

He imagined he could still hear the noise of the pieces lightly striking against each other, as when the old man counted them!

The sweat came out upon his brow; he felt feverish and restless to commence the work now, to at once possess himself by a bold stroke, of the treasure!

There were no persons in the cabin but Mr. Manton, himself, and the steward, the captain, with the first and second officers being on deck, and not apt to come below until two bells—ten o'clock, which was yet an hour distant. The steward slept away off at the further end of the cabin, and being a sound sleeper, there was no danger of his waking from any noise less than that of a thunderbolt.

Brand, however, to make sure, now rose, and going to the steward's door listened intently, when the heavy breathing of the man convinced him that his present slumber was no exception to the rule.

In the middle of the state-room the dark schemer paused, glancing up at the companionway. The spray occasionally entering this in drops, would give him an excuse for closing the slide, so that he could hear if any person should attempt to enter during the performance of his fearful work.

Then Brand asked himself what he should do after committing the deed.

Investigation would follow, and there were many ways in which he might be discovered.

"Curses upon it! I had not thought of that," muttered the wretch, fairly grinding his teeth.

He went back to his berth, not to sleep, but to endeavor to plan a safer scheme!

It seemed as if the evil one favored him!

At six bells—two hours after ten o'clock—while the captain and first mate slept profoundly in their respective apartments, adjoining the steward's, Brand heard a noise, and cautiously peering through his door saw Mr. Manton, half dressed, about to go on deck, as was often his custom, to take a mouthful of fresh air.

He locked his door carefully after him; then ascended the companion.

Brand waited a few minutes, then one moment exulting, and the next shuddering at the thought of the deed contemplated, he cautiously made his way on deck.

The rascal had carefully considered the purpose in view. He felt certain that no man aboard but himself, knew of the fortune carried by Mr. Manton in his chest. The passenger was not at all communicative, while the captain and his first and second officers were. Therefore, had they known of the box of money, they would have talked enough about it for all hands to become in a short time, posted on the subject.

Brand's first step, on reaching the deck, was to ascertain the relative position of the officer of the watch, the passenger and the man at the wheel.

The latter, located near the steerage, was looking sharply at the compass, as it was his duty to do, while the officer of the watch had gone amidships, where he stood leaning over the rail, evidently in a reverie. As to the passenger, he had moved far off, and was leaning across the bulwarks astern, the better to get the benefit of the fresh breeze then blowing square into his face.

"Now, then," thought Brand, drawing from his breast pocket a small, sharp dirk.

Noiselessly as a snake, he stole behind the passenger, then, starting up and throwing a quick glance round him to make sure that everything was still favorable, he drew off to stab Mr. Manton in the back.

Chance willed that the latter should turn at this critical instant.

Involuntarily he seized the ruffian's wrist, and being a resolute man, grappled him by the throat with the other hand.

Fearful that the man would sing out, which he certainly would have done at once but for a cold lately contracted in the throat, Brand suddenly pressed this whole tremendous weight against the passenger, throwing him backward head over heels across the bulwarks into the sea.

A splash—a gurgling cry—a hand thrown up above the dark water!

Then no sound was to be heard save the ordinary noises of a vessel booming along with the wind and waves roaring, and yards, masts and timbers creaking.