Next morning Dick reviewed the situation as he ate his breakfast in the fresh coolness before the sun got up. He had got a shock, but he was young and soon recovered. His anger against the unknown plotter remained fierce, but this was, in a sense, a private grievance, by which he must not be unduly influenced. It was plain that he was thought dangerous, which showed that he was following the right clue, and he had determined that the raiding of ships belonging to Britain or her allies must be stopped. Since he had gone to the representative of British authority and had been rebuffed, he meant to get Fuller to see if American suspicions could be easier aroused, but he must first make sure of his ground. In the meantime, Don Sebastian had asked his help and he had given a conditional promise.

Dick decided that he had taken the proper course. Don Sebastian held Kenwardine accountable and meant to expose him. This was painful to contemplate for Clare’s sake, but Dick admitted that he could not shield Kenwardine at his country’s expense. Still, the matter was horribly complicated. If Kenwardine was ruined or imprisoned, a serious obstacle in Dick’s way would be removed, but it was unthinkable that this should be allowed to count when Clare must suffer. Besides, she might come to hate him if she learned that he was responsible for her father’s troubles. But he would make the liner’s fate a test. If the vessel arrived safe, Kenwardine should go free until his guilt was certain; if she were sunk or chased, he would help Don Sebastian in every way he could.

For three or four days he heard nothing about her, and then, one hot morning, when Stuyvesant and Bethune stood at the foot of the tower by the sluice examining some plans, Jake crossed the pipe with a newspaper in his hand.

“The Diario has just arrived,” he said. “I haven’t tried to read it yet, but the liner has been attacked.”

Dick, who was superintending the building of the sluice, hastily scrambled up the bank, and Stuyvesant, taking the newspaper, sat down in the shade of the tower. He knew more Castilian than the others, who gathered round him as he translated.

The liner, the account stated, had the coast in sight shortly before dark and was steaming along it when a large, black funnel steamer appeared from behind a point. The captain at once swung his vessel round and the stranger fired a shot, of which he took no notice. It was blowing fresh, the light would soon fade, and there was a group of reefs, which he knew well, not far away. The raider gained a little during the next hour and fired several shots. Two of the shells burst on board, killing a seaman and wounding some passengers, but the captain held on. When it was getting dark the reefs lay close ahead, with the sea breaking heavily on their outer edge, but he steamed boldly for an intricate, unmarked channel between them and the land. In altering his course, he exposed the vessel’s broadside to the enemy and a shot smashed the pilot-house, but they steered her in with the hand-gear. The pursuer then sheered off, but it got very dark and the vessel grounded in a position where the reef gave some shelter.

Nothing could be done until morning, but as day broke the raider reappeared and had fired a shot across the reef when a gunboat belonging to the state in whose territorial waters the steamer lay came upon the scene. She steamed towards the raider, which made off at full speed. Then the gunboat took the liner’s passengers on board, and it was hoped that the vessel could be re-floated.

“A clear story, told by a French or Spanish sailor who’d taken a passage on the ship,” Bethune remarked. “It certainly didn’t come from one of the British crew.”

“Why?” Jake asked.

Bethune smiled. “A seaman who tells the truth about anything startling that happens on board a passenger boat gets fired. The convention is to wrap the thing in mystery, if it can’t be denied. Besides, the ability to take what you might call a quick, bird’s-eye view isn’t a British gift; an Englishman would have concentrated on some particular point. Anyhow, I can’t see how the boat came to be where she was at the time mentioned.” He turned to Dick and asked: “Do you know, Brandon?”

“No,” said Dick, shortly, “not altogether.”

“Well,” resumed Bethune, “I’ve seen the antiquated gunboat that came to the rescue, and it’s amusing to think of her steaming up to the big auxiliary cruiser. It’s doubtful if they’ve got ammunition that would go off in their footy little guns, though I expect the gang of half-breed cut-throats would put up a good fight. They have pluck enough, and the country they belong to can stand upon her dignity.”

“She knows where to look for support,” Stuyvesant remarked. “If the other party goes much farther, she’ll get a sharp snub up. What’s your idea of the situation?”

“Something like yours. We can’t allow the black eagle to find an eyrie in this part of the world, but just now our Western bird’s talons are blunt. She hasn’t been rending the innocents like the other, but one or two of our former leaders are anxious to put her into fighting trim, and I dare say something of the kind will be done. However, Brandon hasn’t taken much part in this conversation. I guess he’s thinking about his work!”

Dick, who had been sitting quiet with a thoughtful face, got up.

“I’d like to talk to you for a few minutes, Stuyvesant.”

“Very well,” said the other, who turned to Bethune and Jake. “I don’t want to play the domineering boss, but we’re not paid to sit here and fix up international politics.”

They went away and Stuyvesant looked at Dick who said, “I ought to start in the launch to-morrow to get the laborers you want, but I can’t go.”

“Why?”

Dick hesitated. “The fact is I’ve something else to do.”

“Ah!” said Stuyvesant. “I think the understanding was that Fuller bought all your time.”

“He did. I’m sorry, but——”

“But if I insist on your going down the coast, you’ll break your agreement.”

“Yes,” said Dick with embarrassment. “It comes to that.”

Stuyvesant looked hard at him. “You must recognize that this is a pretty good job, and you’re not likely to get another without Fuller’s recommendation. Then I understand you were up against it badly when he first got hold of you. You’re young and ought to be ambitious, and you have your chance to make your mark right here.”

“It’s all true,” Dick answered doggedly. “Still, I can’t go.”

“Then it must be something very important that makes you willing to throw up your job.”

Dick did not answer and, to his surprise, Stuyvesant smiled as he resumed: “It’s England first, with you?”

“How did you guess? How much do you know?” Dick asked sharply.

“I don’t know very much. Your throwing out the wine gave me a hint, because it was obvious that somebody had been getting after you before, and there were other matters. But you’re rather young and I suspect you’re up against a big thing.”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you about it yet, if that is what you mean.”

“Very well. Stay here, as usual, if you like, or if you want a week off, take it. I’ll find a suitable reason for not sending you in the launch.”

“Thanks!” said Dick, with keen gratitude, and Stuyvesant, who nodded pleasantly, went away.

Dick sent a note to Don Sebastian by a messenger he could trust, and soon after dark met him, as he appointed, at a wine-shop on the outskirts of the town, where they were shown into a small back room.

“I imagine you are now satisfied,” the Spaniard said. “The liner has been chased and people on board her have been killed.”

“I’m ready to do anything that will prevent another raid. To some extent, perhaps, I’m responsible for what has happened; I might have stopped and seen the mate or captain, but then I’d have lost the man I was after. What do you think became of my note?”

Don Sebastian looked thoughtful. “The boy may have lost it or shown it to his comrades; they carry a few Spanish stewards for the sake of the foreign passengers, and we both carelessly took too much for granted. We followed the spy we saw without reflecting that there might be another on board. However, this is not important now.”

“It isn’t. But what do you mean to do with Kenwardine?”

“You have no cause for troubling yourself on his account.”

“That’s true, in a way,” Dick answered, coloring, though his tone was resolute. “He once did me a serious injury, but I don’t want him hurt. I mean to stop his plotting if I can, but I’m going no further, whether it’s my duty or not.”

The Spaniard made a sign of comprehension. “Then we need not quarrel about Kenwardine. In fact, the President does not want to arrest him; our policy is to avoid complications and it would satisfy us if he could be forced to leave the country and give up the coaling station.”

“How will you force him?”

“He has been getting letters from Kingston; ordinary, friendly letters from a gentleman whose business seems to be coaling ships. For all that, there is more in them than meets the uninstructed eye.”

“Have you read his replies?”

Don Sebastian shrugged. “What do you expect? They do not tell us much, but it looks as if SeÑor Kenwardine means to visit Kingston soon.”

“But it’s in Jamaica; British territory.”

“Just so,” said the Spaniard, smiling. “SeÑor Kenwardine is a bold and clever man. His going to Kingston would have thrown us off the scent if we had not known as much as we do; but it would have been dangerous had he tried to hide it and we had found it out. You see how luck favors us?”

“What is your plan?”

“We will follow Kenwardine. He will be more or less at our mercy on British soil, and, if it seems needful, there is a charge you can bring against him. He stole some army papers.”

Dick started. “How did you hear of that?”

“Clever men are sometimes incautious, and he once spoke about it to his daughter,” Don Sebastian answered with a shrug. “Our antagonists are not the only people who have capable spies.”

The intrigue and trickery he had become entangled in inspired Dick with disgust, but he admitted that one could not be fastidious in a fight with a man like his antagonist.

“Very well,” he said, frowning, “I’ll go; but it must be understood that when he’s beaten you won’t decide what’s to be done with the man without consulting me.”

Don Sebastian bowed. “It is agreed. One can trust you to do nothing that would injure your country. But we have some arrangements to make.”

Shortly afterwards Dick left the wine-shop, and returning to the camp went to see Stuyvesant.

“I want to go away in a few days, perhaps for a fortnight, but I’d like it understood that I’d been sent down the coast in the launch,” he said. “As a matter of fact, I mean to start in her.”

“Certainly. Arrange the thing as you like,” Stuyvesant agreed. Then he looked at Dick with a twinkle. “You deserve a lay-off and I hope you’ll enjoy it.”

Dick thanked him and went back to his shack, where he found Jake on the verandah.

“I may go with the launch, after all, but not to Coronal,” he remarked.

“Ah!” said Jake, with some dryness. “Then you had better take me; anyhow, I’m coming.”

“I’d much sooner you didn’t.”

“That doesn’t count,” Jake replied. “You’re getting after somebody, and if you leave me behind, I’ll give the plot away. It’s easy to send a rumor round the camp.”

Dick reflected. He saw that Jake meant to come and knew he could be obstinate. Besides, the lad was something of a seaman and would be useful on board the launch, because Dick did not mean to join the steamer Kenwardine traveled by, but to catch another at a port some distance off.

“Well,” he said, “I suppose I must give in.”

“You’ve got to,” Jake rejoined, and added in a meaning tone: “You may need a witness if you’re after Kenwardine, and I want to be about to see fair play.”

“Then you trust the fellow yet?”

“I don’t know,” Jake answered thoughtfully. “At first, I thought Kenwardine great, and I like him now. He certainly has charm and you can’t believe much against him when he’s with you; but it’s somehow different at a distance. Still, he knew nothing about the attacks on you. I saw that when I told him about them.”

“You told him!” Dick exclaimed.

“I did. Perhaps it might have been wise——”

Jake stopped, for he heard a faint rustle, as if a bush had been shaken, and Dick looked up. The moon had not yet risen, thin mist drifted out of the jungle, and it was very dark. There was some brush in front of the building and a belt of tall grass and reeds grew farther back. Without moving the upper part of his body, he put his foot under the table at which they sat and kicked Jake’s leg.

“What was that about Adexe?” he asked in a clear voice, and listened hard.

He heard nothing then, for Jake took the hint and began to talk about the coaling station, but when the lad stopped there was another rustle, very faint but nearer.

Next moment a pistol shot rang out and a puff of acrid smoke drifted into the veranda. Then the brushwood crackled, as if a man had violently plunged through it, and Jake sprang to his feet.

“Come on and bring the lamp!” he shouted, running down the steps.

Dick followed, but left the lamp alone. He did not know who had fired the shot and it might be imprudent to make himself conspicuous. Jake, who was a few yards in front, boldly took a narrow path through the brush, which rose to their shoulders. The darkness was thickened by the mist, but after a moment or two they heard somebody coming to meet them. It could hardly be an enemy, because the man wore boots and his tread was quick and firm. Dick noted this with some relief, but thought it wise to take precautions.

“Hold on, Jake,” he said and raised his voice: “Who’s that?”

“Payne,” answered the other, and they waited until he came up.

“Now,” said Jake rather sharply, “what was the shooting about?”

“There was a breed hanging round in the bushes and when he tried to creep up to the veranda I plugged him.”

“Then where is he?”

“That’s what I don’t know,” Payne answered apologetically. “I hit him sure, but it looks as if he’d got away.”

“It looks as if you’d missed. Where did you shoot from?”

Payne beckoned them to follow and presently stopped beside the heap of ironwork a little to one side of the shack. The lighted veranda was in full view of the spot, but there was tall brushwood close by and behind this the grass.

“I was here,” Payne explained. “Heard something move once or twice, and at last the fellow showed between me and the light. When I saw he was making for the veranda I put up my gun. Knew I had the bead on him when I pulled her off.”

“Then show us where he was.”

Payne led them forward until they reached a spot where the brush was broken and bent, and Jake, stooping down, struck a match.

“I guess he’s right. Look at this,” he said with shrinking in his voice.

The others saw a red stain on the back of his hand and crimson splashes on the grass. Then Dick took the match and put it out.

“The fellow must be found. I’ll get two or three of the boys I think we can trust and we’ll begin the search at once.”

He left them and returned presently with the men and two lanterns, but before they set off he asked Payne: “Could you hear what we said on the veranda?”

“No. I could tell you were talking, but that was all. Once you kind of raised your voice and I guess the fellow in front heard something, for it was then he got up and tried to crawl close in.”

“Just so,” Dick agreed and looked at Jake as one of the men lighted a lantern. “He was nearer us than Payne. I thought Adexe would draw him.”

They searched the belt of grass and the edge of the jungle, since, as there were venomous snakes about, it did not seem likely that the fugitive would venture far into the thick, steamy gloom. Then they made a circuit of the camp, stopping wherever a mound of rubbish offered a hiding-place, but the search proved useless until they reached the head of the track. Then an explanation of the man’s escape was supplied, for the hand-car, which had stood there an hour ago, had gone. A few strokes of the crank would start it, after which it would run down the incline.

“I guess that’s how he went,” said Payne.

Dick nodded. The car would travel smoothly if its speed was controlled, but it would make some noise and he could not remember having heard anything. The peons, however, frequently used the car when they visited their comrades at the mixing sheds, and he supposed the rattle of wheels had grown so familiar that he had not noticed it.

“Send the boys away; there’s nothing more to be done,” he said.

They turned back towards the shack, and after a few minutes Jake remarked: “It will be a relief when this business is over. My nerves are getting ragged.”