118- A Shipment of Mute Fate -David Ellis

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Tonight we escaped to a Tropic Harbor in Venezuela and the story of a grim voyage of impending death which started from there. As Martin Storm tells it in his exciting story, a shipment of mute fate. I stopped on the wharf at La Guirere, looked up at the gangplank, toward the liner Chancay, standing there quietly at her moorings. The day was warm under a bright

tropic sun, and the harbor beyond the ship lay drowsy and silent. But all at once in the midst of those peaceful surroundings, a cold chill gripped me, and I shivered with sudden dread. Dread of the thing I was doing and was about to do. But too much had happened to turn back now. I'd gone too far to stop. I set the box down on the edge of the

wharf, placed it carefully so as to be in plain sight and within gunshot of the captain's bridge. And I turned and started up the gland plank. I knew what I was going to do. I couldn't forget that a certain pair of beady eyes were watching every move I made. Eyes that never blinked and never closed. Just watched and made.