"Judge Beaucaire is dead," I announced gravely. "Nothing more can be
done for him now."

The pressing circle of men hemming us in fell back silently,
reverently, the sound of their voices sinking into a subdued murmur.
It had all occurred so suddenly, so unexpectedly, that even these
witnesses could scarcely grasp the truth. They were dazed, leaderless,
struggling to restrain themselves. As I stood there, almost
unconscious of their presence, still staring down at that upturned
face, now appearing manly and patrician in the strange dignity of its
death mask, a mad burst of anger swept me, a fierce yearning for
revenge--a feeling that this was no less a murder because Nature had
struck the blow. With hot words of reproach upon my lips I gazed
across toward where Kirby had been standing a moment before. The
gambler was no longer there--his place was vacant.

"Where is Kirby?" I asked, incredulous of his sudden disappearance.

For a moment no one answered; then a voice in the crowd croaked
hoarsely:

"He just slipped out through that after door to the deck--him and Bill
Carver."

"And the stakes?"

Another answered in a thin, piping treble.

"I reckon them two cusses took along the most ov it. Enyhow 'tain't