Randall had made an appointment to meet his agent at midnight at the place where they originally met.

Some ten minutes before the hour he entered, and found the Brazilian seated at a table with a bottle before him.

"I am here first," said the latter, nonchalantly, as he laid down a glass which he had drained.

"So it seems," said Randall. "And now, what success?" he asked, eagerly.

"The best."

"You have——"

"I have earned my reward."

"Good!" exclaimed the mate, his eyes flashing with revengeful malice.

"And now," said the assassin, coolly, "I am ready to receive my pay."

"You shall have it as soon as you prove to me that you have stated the truth."

"Do you dare to doubt my word?" said the Brazilian, fiercely.

"Not at all."

"Why, then, do you demand this proof? Have I not told you?"

"Because," said Randall, "you must know, that in this matter I am the agent of another, and that the money with which I pay you is not mine, but only what he has intrusted to me."

"Well?"

"You will easily understand that, though I may be perfectly satisfied with your assurance, he is a different person. He has never met with you, and may very reasonably require some proof that the deed has been done."

"Would you know the hair of this man?" asked the Brazilian.

"I should."

He drew from his bosom a lock of hair which he had severed from the head of his victim.

Randall looked at it eagerly, turned pale, and uttered an exclamation of mingled surprise and dismay.

"You have made a great mistake," he said.

"A mistake?" echoed the other.

"Yes," said Randall; "you must have killed the wrong man!"

"What makes you think so?"

"Because the hair should be sandy. This is black."

"Beware," said the assassin, suspiciously, "how you attempt to trick me out of my reward. The knife which has drunk the blood of one can, on occasion, do the same thing for another."

"Your suspicions are unjust," said the mate. "In any event, you are welcome to what you have already received, and we must enter upon a new contract for the other."

"Umph!" muttered his companion, but half appeased.

"And now let us go and see who has been the victim of this unlucky mistake."

Together they proceed cautiously to the alley where the sailor yet lay, cold and rigid, his face wearing the look of dark, sullen hatred and ferocity which had been habitual to it in life.

"Good heavens!" exclaimed Randall. "This is Antonio."

"Is it not the man you intended?"

"No; it is his deadly foe. But what a fearful look he wears in death. Was there any struggle?"

"No; he had no chance."

"You did not kill him instantly?"

"He had time to ask a question."

"What was it?"

"He asked if I had been hired to murder him."

"And you answered——"

"Yes."

"Did you tell him by whom you were hired?"

"I had no opportunity. He had just strength to ask the question, and then died."

"He supposed it to be another," said Randall. "But it can't be helped, and we may as well leave this place, or we may incur suspicion. I don't know that I care much for the mistake. He was an ugly fellow."

"About the other?"

"If you will be on the wharf to-morrow morning, I will take care that the man is on deck. You could not fail to recognize him, but to avoid all mistake, I will go forward and speak to him."

"And am I to receive no more than twenty dollars for what I have already done?" asked the Brazilian, discontentedly.

"Did you take nothing from the corpse?"

The assassin had found considerable money, and the thought of this tended to appease him.

"You are welcome to that, whatever it is, and for the new enterprise you shall have as much as I promised in the first place. You see, therefore, that you will be a gainer by the mistake that has taken place, while I shall be out of pocket by it."

"You said you were but an agent."

"So I am, but this money will come from me."

Here the two villains parted company, one betaking himself to his ship, the other returning to the drinking-saloon, where he spent the remainder of the night in drunken revelry.

In the meantime the man against whose life Randall had plotted unsuccessfully was preparing another disappointment for the mate.

On leaving the ship, not dreaming how important to him had been the ten minutes by which his comrades had preceded him, Bill Sturdy struck for the central part of the city by the most direct route.

Turning a corner, he unexpectedly fell in with a sailor who had been a messmate on a former voyage. Bill ascertained that his comrade was about to sail in two days for Liverpool, and from thence to New York.

"Can your captain take another hand?" asked Sturdy.

"I have no doubt he would like one, for we are short-handed. We lost a sailor overboard just before we got into Rio."

"Do you carry any passengers?"

"A few."

"I shall want to secure a berth for one."

"You don't mean to say, Bill, that you've been spliced?"

"Not quite so bad as that. The passenger is a boy."

"A son of yours?"

"I wish he was," said Bill, earnestly; "but I'll tell you more about this matter another time. For the present, keep dark. And that reminds me, can you tell me of any quiet, decent place where the lad and I can come to anchor?"

"I know of a widow woman who will give you good rooms."

Bill took down the address.

Toward twelve o'clock he returned to the wharf at which the vessel was lying. While he was standing in the shadow of a large building the cathedral clock struck twelve.

A moment after, and a youthful form appeared upon deck, descended the side swiftly, and stepped on the wharf.

"Here I am, my lad," said Sturdy, in a low voice, coming out from his place of concealment.

"I was afraid you wouldn't be here," whispered Charlie.

"Trust me for that. And now we must be making sail, or the pirates will be after us."

And this is the way Charlie took leave of the Bouncing Betsey.