A majority of the men were sent aboard the "Nancy," while the master and some of his most reliable confederates remained ashore.

The men had made a thorough search, and all hands were still of the opinion that the detective, or whoever it was that had been tracking them, still remained secreted somewhere on the island.

One of the men, a shrewd fellow, offered several singular suggestions. He had accurately measured the tracks of the man who had laid out two members of the crew, and he had found duplicate foot imprints down around the rendezvous.

A more dazed and bewildered set of men were never engaged in an illegal traffic.

Meantime the daring detective was lying low right in their very midst.



CHAPTER XXVII.

Spencer Vance had not been idle while in the subterranean warehouse; but, with his masked lantern, he had gone about, and, in a regular business-like manner, had made an inventory of the merchandise scattered about; and he had also copied all the shipping-marks and also all the hieroglyphic brush signs. He furthermore opened some of the cases, and put identification marks on some of the goods indeed, he did his work in a thorough and masterly manner. He had accomplished wonders; but he was not yet safely off the island.

Later on the detective made some startling and ghastly discoveries. He came upon a box containing human bones, and he was sufficiently experienced to recognize that, in the case of the remains, ordinary, decay had been supplemented by artificial processes, and the latter discovery was a prima facie testimony in favor of the theory that the bones were those of murdered victims.

Our hero was still rummaging around when his attention was attracted by human voices, and, closing the slide of his lantern, he laid low and watched, and, a moment later, became aware that some of the crew of the "Nancy" were in the warehouse.

"I wonder," he muttered, "if they have came to look for me here? If they have, I reckon I'm in a tight place!"

The detective crawled toward the place where the smugglers were gathered, and he overheard their conversation.

One of them remarked.

"It's all nonsense to look for him in here."

"If it is Ballard, or Spencer Vance, I'd look for him in my vest pocket; either one of those men would dare to go anywhere."

"Well, search," commanded Ike Denman.

"Now I am a goner," was the mental declaration of the intrepid revenue officer, while at the same time he was, resolved to take all necessary precautions. He found a hiding place and passed a full hour of anxiety, indeed, a mental strain that would have turned a less nervy man gray.

The agony, however, passed, and he escaped discovery, and heard one of the fellows say:

He is not in here, that is certain."

"You're mistaken, Charley," muttered the detective to himself, in a spirit of reckless facetiousness,

Ike Denman appeared to be completely disheartened, and he said:

"I tell you, my good fellows, we're in trouble; that man has got away."

"What will you do?"

"There is only one thing for me to do; I must go to New York and report the situation at headquarters."

"We can get the goods away."

"It's easy to say we can get the goods away, but where will we take them?"

"We can load the 'Nancy' down with the most valuable of them."

"That is a good idea, but you cannot get to work until to-night."

"We can start in to-night."

"Where will you run her when she's loaded?"

"We can run outside and communicate."

"Do that, and meantime I will go on to New York. There is a one o'clock train from the station on the other side. I will go on that train."

"And we are to load the 'Nancy' to-night"

"Yes."

The detective overheard the whole of the above conversation, and great drops of perspiration came out upon his forehead. He was in a bad fix after all. Should Denman get to New York ahead of him, he would lose his best grip after all. Something must be done. He must get over to the mainland before one o'clock, in time to take the train with Denman, at all hazards.

Denman and a part of his crew passed from the warehouse while one of the men remarked:

"I've some private property in here to look after and I'll see to it at once."

A smile flitted over the face of the detective. He thought a chance was about to present itself for him to get away.

A moment he lay quiet, and then emerged from his hiding-place.

The warehouse was artificially illuminated by a few swinging lamps, and only one was lighted at the time.

The detective cautiously glanced around. He had prepared himself for the work he had in hand. He saw a light in a distant corner and he cautiously stole toward the light, and came upon a man sorting over the contents of a sailor's ship-sack.

It was a critical moment; life depended upon success, death would follow, sure death, the failure of his plan.

Like a cat creeping toward an unsuspecting bird on a twig, the detective crept toward the smuggler, knowing that when he sprung upon his prey there must be no mistake.

The critical moment was reached, the officer made his leap forward, and seized his man, seized him by the throat, and when once Vance got his grip on a man's throat silence followed; no man was ever known to make an outcry with those powerful fingers grasped around his neck.

The man was, not a very powerful fellow, fortunately, and the detective easily bore him to the ground. Having secured the man, the detective said:

"I am going to lighten my grip on your throat. I wish to ask you a few questions, answer me promptly and truthfully, and you will save your life; but seek to make an outcry, and you are a dead man. Now wink if you mean to keep quiet and save your life?"

The mail winked.

"All right, old fellow, you know the value of your skin, I see, and mark you don't make any mistake, for as certain as you make the least effort to give an alarm, you are a dead man; do you understand? If so, wink."

The man winked:

"That's all right," said the detective; and he released his hold on the man's throat.

The man kept his word. He was not a very nervy chap, and was terrified almost to death, as it was.

"What is your name?" demanded the detective.

"Why do you wish to know my name?"

The man spoke in a loud tone, when the detective said:

"Speak low, old man—very low, or you'll never speak again. Now wink."

The man winked, and the detective said:

"Now tell me your name?"

"My name is Arbella."

"Your name is Arbella?" "Yes."

"You are one of the crew of the 'Nancy'?"

"No."

"You are not?"

"I am not."

"What are you?"

"I am the doctor on the vessel. I've nothing to do with their business."

"Oh, you're the doctor?"

"I am."

"Well, doctor, you are a lucky man. I did intend to silence you, but I'll just shut you up temporarily; and now mind; if you make the least noise or attempt to offer resistance, you area dead man!"



CHAPTER XXVIII.

"I will be silent," the man answered.

"I reckon you will, my friend."

As our readers will remember, the detective had arranged to carry out a certain plan before he pounced upon the doctor. Our hero had the knack of making little necessary articles, and he had prepared a gag, which he inserted in the man's mouth after having first bound the fellow's hands under him. After inserting the gag, the detective released the man's hands temporarily, until he had removed the prisoner's outer and upper clothing, when a second time he bound him.

Indeed, our readers have already detected the officer's plan. He had determined to assume the man's clothes, personate him, and risk the chances of an escape. It was a perilous undertaking, but the officer had been taking perilous chances all along.

The change was made, and our detective fancied he had succeeded in making a most excellent "make up" in his "transform," and when all ready he moved toward the door.

He had reached a part where the real peril commenced; but, with his hand on the butt of a cocked revolver, he ascended to the upper room. The apartment was deserted.

"So far, so good," muttered the bold man, and he peeped out of the door.

Again fortune favored him.

Two men were stretched out under the bluff asleep, and two more were down close to the shore.

"Now or never!" muttered Vance, and he stepped forth.

Had the men on the shore been close enough they might have discovered that something was wrong; but, at the distance, as they glanced at the detective, they evidently mistook him for Arbella.

The detective did not attempt to slink away—he was too cool and ready-witted. He calmly lit a pipe and wandered around, seemingly in a listless manner; but, at the proper moment, he moved away from the beach and soon disappeared behind some bushes.

"Well done!" was the glad exclamation that fell from his lips.

Once beyond sight he moved along rapidly, and made for the point where he and Taylor had landed the previous night.

Vance reached the spot in safety and stood a moment on the bluff looking for the boat, when he saw a man rowing directly across the bay.

"I hope that fellow lands here," was the detective's muttered exclamation.

The boat Taylor had left for him was gone, and he had made up his mind to appropriate the boat of the rower, in case a chance offered.

He sat intently watching the boat as it came nearer and nearer, and at length a thrill shot through his heart. The danger was passed. He recognized the oarsman—Taylor was in the boat.

The latter rowed straight to the beach and glanced around in a cautious manner, when the detective moved down and hailed him, in a low tone.

Taylor did not recognize the detective at the first glance, and settled down to his oars as though intending to pull off, when our hero called him by name, and an instant later a full recognition had taken place.

"Well;" exclaimed Taylor, "you are safe!"

"Yes, I am safe."

"What have you discovered?"

"The whole business."

"And you have not been detected?"

"Oh, yes, I was fallen on several times, but I managed to creep out of a hot spot each time; but come, we have no time to spare."

"You are a fortunate man."

"I shall count in myself a fortunate man if I reach the other side of the bay without accident."

"We will go across easy enough; but do you know the 'Nancy' is at her old anchorage?"

"Where she lay last night?"

"Yes."

Taylor was a good oarsman, and in less than an hour the detective was on the mainland.

"Have you any friends around here?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Honest people?"

"Yes."

"Take me to their house."

"Do you wish to find a hiding place?"

"No; I've other plans than seeking to hide just now."

Taylor led the detective to a friend's house; on the way our hero had partially explained his plans, and had related all the wonderful adventures that had befallen him during the past night.

"You have taken long chances."

"I am used to taking long chances, and I've often done so and gained nothing, but last night's work pays me for all the risk, and, my good friend, you will come in for a nice bit of money."

The two men reached the home of Taylor's friend, and the detective set to work and went through the operation of a deliberate transform. With the assistance of Taylor's friend he secured a complete outfit, and wrought such a marvelous change in his appearance that Taylor and his friend could hardly convince themselves that the man who came forth from the best bedroom was the same man who had entered it a few moments previously.

"You are an extraordinary man," exclaimed Taylor.

"It's all a matter of business, my friend."

"I can well see now why it is you are so willing to take long chances as you call them."

"Well, yes, I've had some experience; but now, friend Taylor, it is not necessary to request you to keep silent concerning my movements, but I want you to watch the movements of the 'Nancy.'"

"She will probably sail away to-day."

"Does she usually go away the day following her night-visit to the coast?"

"Usually, yes."

"She will not sail away to-day, and I want you to watch her and watch any of her crew that may come ashore."

"I am afraid you will get me in trouble before this affair is ended."

"This affair will be ended to-night."

The detective gave Taylor a few instructions and then proceeded to the depot.

Spencer Vance, as he appeared at the little frame station, was as perfect a specimen of a countryman as ever took train from the rural districts for New York.

Ike Denman was at the station. The master of the "Nancy" had also wrought a great change in his personal appearance. He looked little like the man who had stood on the beach across the bay a few hours previously.

It was half an hour previous to the starting of the train when the detective reached the depot, and as he stood around with his hands in his pockets, the master of the "Nancy" several times passed within a few feet of him.

Little did the smuggler captain dream, as he ran his eyes over the rustic-looking passenger, that under that clownish hat was the busy brain that had trailed him and his crew down to such a fine point.

The detective, meantime, was happy, and at the moment little dreamed of the terrible tragedy that had occurred, and which, strangely enough, but awaited his unraveling.

The half hour glided by, and at length the smuggler captain and the detective boarded the train.



CHAPTER XXIX.

The detective acted well his part, and attracted little attention from the master of the "Nancy," until the latter, for lack of something better to do, took a seat beside our hero.

"On your way to the city?"

"Yes."

"Do you go there often?"

"No."

"You live at G——-?"

"No."

"Where do you live?"

"On the island."

"You live on the island?"

"Yes."

"I often go to the island; don't remember ever having seen you."

"I've been off on a trip."

"A trip?"

"Yes."

"Where to?"

"Connecticut."

The master of the "Nancy" laughed, and said:

"Do you call that a trip?"

"Yes; I was away from the island two years."

"What's your name?"

The countryman looked the master of the "Nancy" all over, winking knowingly, and said:

"You cannot come that over me!"

"Come what over you?"

"Oh, I'm no fool! I know how you Yorkers work the trains."

"You know how we Yorkers work the trains?"

"Yes."

"What do we work them for?"

"Suckers; but I'm no fool! You can't come any of your smart games over me. I've lived a couple of years in Hartford; I'm posted!"

"So you think I'm a Yorker?"

"Of coarse I do."

"What makes you think so?"

"You look like one."

"You're a smart Alec, my friend from Connecticut."

"Do you think so?"

"I reckon you think so yourself."

"Mebbe I do; and I'm too smart for you."

"I reckon you are."

"Yes, I am, as you'll find."

"I've found it out already."

"I reckon you have."

"Do you go clean through to the city?"

"Yes, I do."

"Where do you hang out?"

"I haven't made up my mind."

The pretended countryman assumed a very knowing look.

The master of the "Nancy" was amused; he thought he had struck a character. Well, he had, but he had no idea of the real character of the man; he thought he was joking for amusement.

"Were you ever 'nipped' by a Yorker my friend?"

"No siree, and I don't mean to be."

"So you live on the island?"

"Yes."

"And you won't tell me your name?"

"No, I won't."

"What harm would there be in telling your name?"

"You're too anxious to learn my name. What's your name?"

"My name is King."

"Your name is King, eh?"

"Yes."

"You live in York?"

"No, I don't."

"You don't?"

"No,"

"Where do you live?"

"On the island."

"You live on the island?"

"Yes."

"Never heard of anyone by the name of King on the island."

"You never did?"

"Never."

"That's strange."

"No, it ain't strange, because no one by the name of King ever lived there."

"Do you know a family by the name of Manuels?"

"See here, Mr. King, you can't pump me."

"I am not pumping you, I am only asking you civil questions."

"I am not answering civil questions to-day."

"Well, you are a crank."

"A what?"

"A crank."

"What's a crank?"

"A fool."

"You call me a fool?"

"Yes."

The detective rose to his feet, assumed a fierce expression and retorted:

"You're another."

The master of the "Nancy" had expected an assault when the countryman assumed such a threatening attitude, and was compelled to laugh when the danger simmered down to a mere retort.

Ike Denman was amusing himself, and so was the detective.

"I reckon I've met you before," said the disguised officer.

"You think you've met me before?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"Can't recall just now, but the faint remembrance don't bring me a pleasant feeling."

"You are a fool," exclaimed Denman, and rising from his seat beside the disguised detective he walked to the other end of the car.

At length the train ran into the depot at Brooklyn, and the few passengers went aboard the boat that was to convey them to the city.

The detective was a happy man. He had accomplished a big feat, and little dreamed of the terrible discovery he was destined to make later on.

Upon reaching the city, Denman started down town and entered a building occupied by a foreign importing horse.

The detective was at his wit's end. He was anxious to overhear what passed between the master of the "Nancy" and the members of the firm. In a moment his decision was made, and it was founded on a cunning line of reasoning.

Our hero entered the store just as the private office door closed behind Denman.

A gentleman came forward and demanded the seeming countryman's business, and the detective asked to see one of the members of the firm, calling him by name, leaving learned the same from the sign over the door.

"He is busy," was the answer.

That was just the answer the detective had expected, and it was in anticipation of such an answer that he boldly walked in and ventured the inquiry.

"When will he be at leisure?"

"It is hard to tell."

The clerk knew Denman and suspected that it was private and important business that had brought the master of the "Nancy" to New York.

"I wish to see him particularly."

"Cam I not attend to the business for Mr. M——?"

"No sir; I must see Mr. M—— personally."

"Can you call again?"

"I will wait."

"He may be engaged a long time."

"I cannot help it, I must see him to-day, and it does not make much difference; I am in no hurry, I can wait as well as not."

The clerk walked away and our hero edged toward the office situated at the rear of the store, and seated himself upon a case of goods, resting directly against the office partition.

A glass casing only separated the detective from the members of the firm and the master of the "Nancy," and he could overhear all that passed.

The clerk meantime was busy in the forward part of the store, and paid no heed to the stupid-looking countryman.

Spencer Vance was well repaid for his risks. He overheard the names of several firms, and got down facts which made it a dead open and shut case.

At length he recognized that the conference was about reaching a conclusion, and he came another sharp trick.



CHAPTER XXX.

As our readers have discerned, the detective had no desire to see the member of the firm whom he had asked for; it had been merely a game to gain an opportunity to listen to what occurred between the capitalists and the master of the "Nancy."

When Vance saw that the conference was about terminating, he walked to the front of the store, and said:

"I will not wait; I will call in again."

"If your business is important you had better wait. He can not be engaged a much longer time."

"I will call again."

"Very well."

The detective walked out. He had "coppered" all he required for the time being. He took up his position a short distance from the store, and awaited the reappearance of Denman upon the street. He was not compelled to wait very long, as the master of the "Nancy" soon appeared, and the detective fell upon his trail.

Denman walked up town a short distance, and stopped in a well-known bar-room, and the detective again got in on a little wait. The master of the "Nancy" did not remain long in the bar-room, and soon again appeared upon the street, when the detective approached him.

"Hello, King," called Vance, "haven't you gone back yet?"

The master of the "Nancy" turned and recognized the countryman whom he had called a "crank" on the train.

"Where did you come from?"

"I saw you come out of that place, and I thought I'd like to have a few words with you."

"I have no time."

"Oh, yes; you call spare a few moments."

"Probably you know my business better than I do."

"I know you're in no hurry; you're not going out on the island to-night."

"I am not going out on the island to-night?"

"Well, you're a 'no-such-thing'!"

"Come and have a beer?"

"I have no time, I tell you."

"It will not take you a minute; and I've something to tell you."

"You've something to tell me?"

"Yes."

"What have you to say to me?"

"Something very important."

"What are you giving me now?"

"Facts. Cone along; I've a surprise for you."

The master of the "Nancy" was amused and at the same time mystified. He could not dream what the countryman could have to say to him.

"Come along," said Vance.

"You have something to tell me?"

"Yes."

"Tell me here."

"No; I want to sit down. It's a long story."

A curious look came over the smuggler's face, and, for the first time, a faint suspicion crossed his mind. "Where will we go?" he asked.

"Oh, here's a place."

The two men entered a beer saloon, the rear yard of which had been converted into a garden, over which an awning was stretched. They took a seat and Denman demanded in an impatient tone:

"Well, what have you to say to me?"

There was no one in the garden but the two men; the waiter had brought the beer and had gone away.

"You asked me what my name was on the train?"

"Yes, I did."

"I wouldn't tell you!"

"No."

"Well, do you know why?"

"No."

"You ought to know my name; you and I have met before; can't you tell where?"

The detective all the time had preserved his rustic tones and demeanor.

"You and I have met before?"

"Yes."

"When and where?"

"Several times."

"Where?"

"Ah, you must guess."

"The master of the "Nancy" studied the detective's face.

"I do not remember ever having seen you before."

"Nonsense."

"You are having some fun at my expense."

"Do you think so?"

"Yes."

"Well, I am in dead earnest."

"Where did we meet before?"

"The last time we met I promised you we would meet again."

A fierce look shot into Denman's eyes as he permitted his glance to roam around the garden.

He was studying what the chances would be under certain contingencies.

"As I don't know you, do you know me?"

"You told me your name was King."

"Is that my name?"

"No."

"What is my name?"

"Denman," came the answer in a low, firm tone. The master of the "Nancy" turned deadly pale. Ho realized that something was up, and it came to him that the seeming countryman after all, was a man as keen and resolute as himself.

"You say my name is Denman?"

"Yes."

"You are sure?"

"I am."

"What's my business?"

"You're the master of the 'Nancy'."

Denman made a certain significant motion with his hand, when the detective whispered:

"Don't!"

There was a world of significance in that little word "Don't!"

"Who are you?"

"Can't you guess?"

"I'm not guessing to-day."

"Sorry."

"What is your business with me?"

"I wanted to tell you that I knew who you were."

"Is that all?"

"No."

"What else?"

"I wanted you to know that I am a man who keeps his word."

"Is your word passed to me?"

"Yes."

"What is your promise?"

"I promised to meet you again."

"I don't recall."

"Don't you perceive?"

"Perceive what?"

"That you are in a bad hole."

Again the master of the "Nancy" made a certain movement, when the detective repeated in a peculiar warning tone:

"Don't."

"You are a revenue officer?" said Denman.

"Aha! now you begin to open up!"

"What is your business with me?"

"You are my prisoner!"

"No, no, my friend!"

"Yes, yes, Denman."

Matters were approaching a critical climax. Denman attempted to rise from his seat.

"Sit down!" commanded the detective.

"My friend," Said Denman, "don't fly your kite too high, your string may be cut."

The smuggler spoke in a warning tone.

"Sit down," repeated the detective.

Denman realized that he was facing a man who was well prepared at every turn.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"I am your old friend Ballard!" came the reply.



CHAPTER XXXI.

Denman showed signs of great excitement and trepidation.

Our readers will remember that the smuggler had never identified Spencer Vance and Ballard as one and the same man; and, when suspicions were aroused as to the identity of the disguised detective, it never once entered Denman's head that he was sitting vis-a-vis with Ballard.

"You are Ballard?"

"I am Ballard."

"Are you man or devil?"

"I suppose you think I ought to be floating on the sea?"

"I thought you were at the bottom of the sea, and how you escaped to face me I can't tell."

"I'll tell you all about it some day, Denman, but, in the meantime, do you mean fight, or does your flag come down?"

"My flag comes down. The game is up with me."

"Well, sit down."

The smuggler sat down.

"I've got the thing down pretty fine on you, Denman."

"I should say so. You were on the island?"

"I was."

"You are the man who laid out some of the crew?"

"I am the culprit."

"You beat 'em all!"

"Well, I reckon I've run this racket pretty well."

"How did you get ashore?"

"You wouldn't believe."

"I'll take your word for anything."

"I swam ashore."

"You're a good swimmer."

"I am."

"How did you snake us out down at the island?"

"I've been picking up facts for some time."

"Spencer Vance and you were 'laying in' together?"

"Well, yes."

"Where is Vance?"

"He is here."

"Where?"

"I am Vance!"

"What!" ejaculated the smuggler.

"Ballard and Vance both wear the same hats."

"This does get me."

"Yes, I reckon I've got you."

"And now, what's your play?"

"You will go to Ludlow Street."

We will explain to our rural readers that Ludlow Street is the location of a prison where all revenue prisoners are confined.

Denman had been in Ludlow Street. He knew well enough what the detective's declaration meant.

"How about bail?"

"No bail."

"I've good bondsman."

"That's all right."

A moment Denman was silent and thoughtful, but at length said:

"Are you on the make?"

"What have you to offer?"

"You can drop to a big sum."

"How big?"

"Three or four thousand."

The detective smiled, and answered

"I'm in for more than that; remember the value of what's in your storehouse on the island."

"You have that down?"

"I've been in there; your crew know it by this time if they have rummaged around any. I was there when you decided to come on to New York and notify your principals."

The smuggler gazed at the detective with an expression of wonderment upon his face,

"You were there?"

"Yes."

"Where were you when we searched?"

"I was stowed away."

"And we missed you?"

"If you hadn't I would not be here now."

"You're right. I'm blowed if you don't get me, but you're entitled to win. Still we can come to a compromise,"

"How will you manage it, Denman?"

"I will take you to the principals."

The detective mentioned the names of several of the firms.

Denman's eyes opened wider and wider,

"You tracked me well."

"Yes, I did."

"Will you open up for negotiation?"

"No."

"What is to be done?"

"You must open up."

The smuggler did not make an immediate reply,

"What have you to say?"

"I can't promise anything."

"I've got everything dead."

"I see you have."

"Then it's for you to lay in for all the favors you can get."

"There's nothing I can give away, you have it all."

"Are you ready?"

"For what!"

"To go to Ludlow Street."

"Is there no chance for a deal?"

"None whatever."

"All right, I'm passive."

"Understand me, Denman, I'll have my eye on you; if you go quietly it's all right; if you attempt any capers down you go."

"I am passive."

"It's all right then, come."

The two men rose, and any casual customer in that garden would never have imagined that a thrilling drama in real life was being enacted right then and there, and that two remarkable men had played a thrilling part.

The men reached Ludlow Street. Denman was given in charge, and the detective called a cab and started down town. Our hero was still in the garb of the countryman. He entered the United States District Attorney's office and accosted a dandy clerk.

"Where is the district attorney?"

"What do you want of him?"

"I'll tell him when I see him."

"Can't see him to-day."

"What's that?"

"Can't see him to-day."

"Is he in?"

"You've got your answer."

The detective approached the political dude and said:

"Will you answer my questions?"

"Come, my friend, you get, or—."

"Or what?"

"I'll hustle you."

"You will hustle me, eh?"

"Yes."

The detective suddenly extended his strong, powerful arm and quick as a wink caught the political exquisite by the ear and he closed his vise-like grip.

The young fellow squealed like a pig.

Vance released him and said:

"Will you answer my questions civilly?"

"Who are you?" demanded the clerk, as he vigorously rubbed his ear.

"Go and tell the district attorney I wish to see him."

"What name, sir?"

"Vance."

The clerk entered an inner office and a moment I later reappeared, and in the most obsequious manner, possible said:

"This way, sir."

"Ah, you have come to an understanding of your duty."

"I beg your pardon, if you had told me who you were I would have notified the district attorney at once."

"You would, eh?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, young man, let to-day's experience be a warning to you all your life, and from this time out treat every one with civility who treats you civilly."

A moment later, Vance the detective stood in the presence of the Government attorney.



CHAPTER XXXII.

The two men were intimate. Vance was operating directly under the orders of the attorney, and the latter was not surprised to see him appear under any guise.

"Well, Vance," exclaimed the district attorney, extending his hand, "I'm glad to see you. What news?"

"Good."

"Aha, I'm glad to hear it; you've struck a trail, eh?"

"Yes."

"A good one?"

"Pretty good," answered the detective, dryly.

"Well, let's hear all about it."

"I've collared the whole business."

"What?" ejaculated the Government attorney.

Vance repeated his declaration.

"You collared the whole business?"

"Yes."

"What do you mean?"

"All that the words imply."

"Tell me all about it."

The detective in a rapid manner related his adventures, and as he proceeded the Government attorney opened his eyes wider and wider, and when the of officer had concluded the attorney exclaimed:

"This is wonderful."

"It's a pretty good thing for us."

"I should say so. But. you must bear a charmed life!"

"No, no, I'm only a little watchful against accidents; and sudden surprises."

"And you have the master of the 'Nancy' up in Ludlow Street?"

"He's there sure."

"How does he take the thing?"

"He's all done over."

"Inclined to talk?"

"I reckon you can make him talk."

"I'll visit him at once."

"Not so soon; what you want to do is to capture the 'Nancy' and place a guard over the warehouse."

"You're right."

"You will have to secure a special train; and now when will you be ready?"

"In two hours."

"All right. I will be at the train."

The attorney went away to make all the arrangements for a grand seizure. He had the names of all the principals, who were first put under surveillance, under the "shadow" of a number of Government officers, and then all the other arrangements were completed.

It was seven o'clock in the evening when the special train ran out of the depot, carrying twenty armed men besides the United States attorney, and our hero, who was in command of the party.

Four hours later the party were ready to embark across the bay to the island.

Our hero met his friend Taylor.

"Well, old man, what have you to report?"

"The 'Nancy' weighed anchor only half an hour ago.

"Were you on the track of any of the crew to-day?"

"They were around the village."

"Did they drop anything?"

"Not a word."

The party were soon landed on the island. Taylor did not accompany them, as the detective did not desire to involve his confederate in any future trouble.

The party were marched toward the rendezvous, and had gone but a short distance when the detective, in a low tone, ordered a halt. He had discovered one of the smuggler sentinels, toward whom he advanced.

The man commanded our hero to halt.

The detective came to a halt, and said:

"What do you want?"

"Where do you go?"

"Is there a war round here, that you send out sentinels to stop quiet people?"

"Who are you and where do you go?"

"That's none of your business!"

"I give you two minutes to answer."

"Only two minutes?"

"One!" called the man.

"You're crazy!" said the detective.

"Two!" called the man.

The detective uttered a signal-whistle call, and seven or eight men sprung forward.

The sentinel stood paralyzed.

"Why don't you call three?" demanded Vance.

The man made no reply.

"I had an idea that war had been declared, so I brought my troop this way."

The man made a movement as though about to run away, when Vance said:

"Don't move, my friend, or you will be dropped."

The detective advanced toward the fellow, who saw at once that resistance was in vain.

The man was disarmed and a pair of handcuffs were slipped on his wrists.

"The jig's up," muttered the smuggler.

"Yes, my friend, the jig is up."

The party moved on and soon came in sight of the smugglers, who were running out goods to be put on board of the "Nancy."

The detective advanced straight into their midst.

The smugglers were taken all aback, and some of them started to move away, when the detective called out:

"The first man that moves will be shot down!"

The men did not move.

If there had been under a leader they might have shown fight, but as they did not know exactly what force had been brought against them, they were afraid to open a scrimmage.

The Government attorney at a signal stepped forward, and announced that all the men were prisoners to the United States Government, and the wholesale handcuffing of the crew of the "Nancy" followed.

The men did not offer any resistance, but submitted like lambs.

A boat load of men pulled out and took possession of the "Nancy," and the work of Vance in that direction was at an end.

We will not dwell upon the mere formal movements that followed the "closing-in" on the smugglers. A guard was placed over the warehouse, a guard remained on the "Nancy," and, three hours later, the detective and the district attorney were returning to New York on a special train.

We will merely state that the whole affair was turned over to the Collector of the Port of New York. A revenue cutter was dispatched to the island; and, later on, all the goods were formally condemned, and removed to the city.

The detective had covered himself with glory, and had ascended to the first rank of Government specials; but, after all, the hardest part of his duties remained to be accomplished.

Spencer Vance was detained in New York all of the day following the seizure at the island; but, upon the following evening, he started for the fishing village down on the coast, where he had parted from the lovely Renie under such strange and startling circumstances.

Our hero had not forgotten the strangely beautiful girl, nor the thrilling and romantic incidents attending her career; and having performed his whole duty to the Government, and having practically made an immense fortune at one stroke, he felt at liberty to devote a little time to private detective work.

He was determined to find the missing box which was supposed to contain the testimonies and proofs as to the girl's parentage. It was a difficult duty, and many thrilling adventures attended its performance,



CHAPTER XXXIII.

All the perils were not removed from the detective's peril because of the arrest of the master of the "Nancy" and his crew. The men actively engaged on the yacht were not all the parties interested directly or indirectly in the contraband business.

In going to the coast the detective's peril was even greater than upon former visits, as the worst passions of the remaining part of the gang were fully aroused.

The detective was to be the principal witness against the smugglers, and could he be removed the Government would be without the necessary proofs for the conviction of the principals and the condemnation of the captured contraband goods.

The interest was far reaching, and a powerful body of men were comprised, and within twenty-four hours of the public knowledge of the arrests, fully twenty ruffians were on the lookout for Spencer Vance.

The capitalists had many friends, and they possessed money, and besides some had previously borne excellent characters, and all their safety depended upon the silencing of the detective.

Our hero understood his peril, and although, as our readers know, he was a brave, fearless man, still he had requested a speedy trial of the guilty, as, after he had sworn to his evidence in open court, there would remain no such great incentive for getting him out of the way.

Millions in money, and dozens of reputations depended upon his testimony, and one of the most powerful and wealthy organizations in the United States was arrayed against him; not arrayed in open warfare, but secretly arrayed, and their purpose was to get rid of him.

As stated, our hero knew his peril and knew when he started in just what he would have to face, but he went straight ahead, and when the storm broke he was prepared.

We have stated that twenty ruffians were upon his track, and the statement was no exaggeration.

Spencer Vance went under cover—immediately assumed a role different from any under which he had appeared during any time that he was trailing down the smugglers.

Our hero was, "when unadorned," or rather when not under any sort of disguise, a really handsome and delicate-featured man, and although a man of extraordinary strength, he was not an over-sized man, but on the contrary a little under the average height; but he was a full-blooded, resolute, athletic fellow all the same, and well equal to the duties of his perilous profession.

From the very moment that the arrests were publicly known the detective was on his guard, and that same night had a genuine intimation of his danger.

The detective wanted to see a certain man in the Government employ, and went down to a Government building, situated on the Battery near South Ferry. He had gotten himself up as a night-watchman, hoping in that way to escape observation.

Vance saw his man and left the building, and was proceeding across the Battery, when he observed that he was being followed. The officer at once suspected that there was a possibility that someone of the scoundrels had "tumbled" to his identity, and he resolved to "shake" the ruffian at once. Changing his course, he walked over toward the sea, on the North River side of the park, and stood leaning over the hand-rail, when a man sauntered up alongside.

"A pleasant evening," said the new-comer.

It was still early in the evening.

The detective did not make an immediate reply, but, scanned the speaker from head to feet. he was seeking to ascertain whether or not he recognized the man.

The fellow was a foreigner—an ugly looking chap, and just such a villain as could be employed for any sort of desperate work for pay.

The detective made up his mind to feel his man; and should he discover that the fellow really did not know him, and was dogging him, he was resolved to clap the darbies on him.

"Yes, it's a pleasant evening," said the detective, slowly.

"Hard times for poor men now," remarked the stranger.

"So they tell me," answered Vance.

"You're all right," said, the man.

"How am I all right?"

"Oh, you fellows in Government employ always get your money and have a good chance for pickings."

The detective eyed the man's face and answered:

"I do not get much of a chance to pick anything."

"I thought you fellows had a good show."

"How do you know I'm in the Government employ?"

"You are, I—reckon."

"Mebbe I am."

"You're a night-watchman."

"Well, suppose I am."

"Don't you fellows get a chance for pickings?"

"Not much."

The man drew closer to the detective; the latter was fully on his guard, and had the stranger attempted any funny business just at that moment he would have been downed so quick he never would have known what struck him.

"You can make some big pickings if you want to, my friend."

"I can?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"Do you want to make a few dollars?"

"Well, I don't mind if I do, honestly."

"You can honestly."

"How?"

"You are acquainted with most of the men in the Government service?"

"Mebbe I am."

"You've been a long time in the service?"

"Well, yes."

"There's a man I want to become acquainted with, and mebbe you know him."

"Mebbe I do."

The detective took to the game at once, and he was prepared to let the fellow run out his reels.

"The man can do me a service."

"Why don't you go and tell him so?"

"It won't do for me to approach him openly."

"See here, Johnny, you're on some crooked game."

"My game is straight enough."

"What are you getting at?"

"I've some valuable information for the Government."

"Why don't you take it to the collector of the port?"

"No, no; I did once, and all I got was thanks and those are all right in their place, but they don't pay me."

"What is it you are getting at?"

"I want to get paid for my information."

The detective laughed and said:

"I ain't paying anything for my information."

"That's all right, but you can put me on the right track to get paid, and I'll pay you."

"How can I help you?"

"I want to lay in with one of the Government detectives. I'm told those fellows have a chance at a secret service fund, and can give a man money where the collector can't do it."

"That's so."

"And I want to get in with one of the Government detectives."

"That is easy enough, you don't need any help for that, my man."

The little game was opening up fast.



CHAPTER XXXIV.

The man drew closer to the detective, and said:

"You don't understand how the thing works."

"You want to see one of the detectives?"

"Yes."

"Well, it's easy enough; go to any of the deputy collectors or any of the inspectors, and they will give you the names of several."

"That's neither here nor there; do you want to make a few dollars?"

"Yes."

"All right, I'm going to give you a chance."

"Go ahead."

"I want to see one particular officer."

"Which particular officer?"

"Vance."

"You want to see Vance?"

"Yes."

"Go and tell the collector."

"That won't do."

"Why not?"

"I've been sold once, and this time I'm going to work my racket differently; do you know Vance by, sight?"

"Do you mean Spencer Vance?"

"Yes."

"I know him, and I'll introduce you to him if you want me to do so."

"I do not want you to introduce me."

"What do you want?"

"I want you to point him out to me."

"I haven't time to run around to point him out to you."

"I can make it worth your while."

"For how much?"

"Fifty dollars."

"I don't understand what you're getting at."

"I can't explain, but I'll give you fifty dollars to point that man out to me."

"You will give me fifty dollars?"

"Yes."

"I can earn that fifty dollars easy."

"I don't care how easy you earn it."

"But I don't understand your game."

"I've told you. I've got some valuable information—some 'tips' that Vance will pay big money to 'nip'; but I want my own way and time of opening up the subject to him, and I mean to make sure that my money is good."

"Why are you so anxious to deal with Vance?"

"I've been told he has got the inside track with the Government, and that he is a square man."

"That's the reason you want him?"

"Yes."

"And you will pay me fifty dollars to point him out to you?"

"I will."

"Must I wait for my money until you get your rake?"

"No."

"You will pay me right down?"

"I will pay you the money two minutes after you point the man out to me."

"Do you want an introduction?"

"No."

"Come along; I will put you on to him right away."

The two men started over toward the ferries.

"Will you stand a carriage?" asked the detective.

"What do you want of a carriage?"

"I must get back to go on duty."

"We don't want any carriage."

The man was struck with a shade of suspicion.

"Where are we to go?"

"To Ludlow Street."

The man started back and turned pale. "To Ludlow Street!" he ejaculated.

"Yes."

"What do you mean?"

"Come with me to Ludlow Street, and I will point out Vance to you."

"See here, Johnny, you are up to a smart trick, you are."

"Am I?"

"Yes."

"What is it you're up to, my friend?"

The man looked around. No one was near. The detective was studying the rascal's movements.

The fellow suddenly drew a club; but he was matched.

"Hold on! What do you mean?" he demanded.

"What do you mean? Drop that club."

"Who are you?"

"I'm the man you're looking for, Johnny."

"The man I'm looking for?"

"Yes."

"Who are you?"

"I'm Vance."

"Oh, go 'long!" exclaimed the ruffian, in a derisive tone.

"I'm your man! Now, what information have you got for me?"

"You can't play me," said the fellow.

"No; nor can you play me. Listen: how much are you to get for laying me out?"

The man turned pale and made no answer; he glanced backward; it was evident he had reached the conclusion that it was time for him to leave.

"Don't think of going, Johnny, I want you to answer my question."

"You are not Vance."

"I'll play Vance for you, so sling out your game, Johnny."

The man took a step back.

"Stand where you are," came the command, "or I'll make you."

"Are you really Vance?"

"Come up to Ludlow Street, and I'll prove who I am."

"I ain't going that way."

"Oh yes, you are; you've run right into my grip, and I'm going to shut you in with the rest of them, unless—"

The detective stopped.

"Unless what?"

"Unless you open up and tell me the whole story."

The fellow had a wicked eye. He saw that he had run into a snap, and he was determined to take a desperate chance to get out of it.

"I'm in for it," he remarked.

The detective had been watching the varying changes of expression upon the man's face, and dropped to the fact that the fellow contemplated some desperate expedient.

"I reckon, old man, the best thing for you to do is to own up, make a clean breast of it."

"Are you really Vance, or have I run against some other Government dandy?"

"I am Vance."

"I wish I were sure, old man, and I'd put you on the biggest lay of your life."

"You're safe to give me any information you possess."

"But if I let on to you I want to make sure of my rake in."

"About as sure as I am for the fifty dollars."

The man laughed, and said:

"Well, this is a nice joke all round."

"Yes, a nice joke," repeated the detective in a peculiarly significant tone.

"But," said the man. "I have some valuable information for Vance."

"And so have I some valuable information for you, Mister Man, and now throw up your hands."

"You are not in earnest," said the man, and he approached a step nearer.

"You will find out I am in earnest."

"Do you really intend to take me to Ludlow Street?"

"I do."

"Not to-night," exclaimed the man, and he sprung upon the detective, but he might as well have leaped head first at a hornet's nest.

The detective was ready for the man, and he brought him to his knees upon the grass, and an instant later the darbies were on him.

The man squealed like a pig, but the conviction was forced upon his mind that he had met Vance.



CHAPTER XXXV.

Having laid out the scoundrel, Vance bid the fellow follow, and taking him to Ludlow Street he left him in charge.

On the way to the jail the man begged like a trooper to be released, plead that he was only joking, and that he was really only a "crank," but the detective's invariable reply was:

"I know you and until you 'open up' and tell who employed you to 'shadow' me, you will be kept close."

Our hero learned from the incident the terrible risks that threatened him, and he determined to be even more careful.

It was midnight when Spencer Vance arrived on the coast. He had crossed the bay alone to the outer coast and proceeded toward the cabin of old Tom Pearce.

It was a windy, rainy night, and as disagreeable as could be, and, indeed, it was desolate enough without the roar of the breakers as they lashed themselves upon the beach.

The detective was proceeding along when he was suddenly summoned to a halt.

The detective at once suspected trouble, and his ready hand went to his pocket as a man covered with a rubber coat and slouch hat approached.

"Good-evening, stranger," said the man in the rubber coat.

"Good-evening," was the response.

"Are you acquainted around here"

"Well, I should say I was a little."

"Do you know a fisherman around here by the name of Pearce?"

"What do you want of Mr. Pearce?"

"Ah, you know him!"

"I haven't said so."

"But you do."

"Mebbe I do."

"Will you guide me to his house?"

"I don't know whether I will or not."

"I will pay you for your time."

"You will?"

"Yes."

"Where did you come from, stranger?"

"That's my business."

"Is it? Well, it's my business not to guide you to Tom Pearce's cottage."

"Hang it, you are a surly lot around here."

"You are a surly lot yourself."

"I only wish to be guided to a man's cabin."

"Well, if you would give a little information you might receive in return a great deal more."

"You cannot expect a stranger to tell his business to every man he meets."

"No; but will you tell me how long you have been on the coast?"

"Why do you ask?"

"As a good Samaritan."

"I do not understand you, neighbor."

"I wish to discover whether or not you are stranger around here."

"What difference does that make?"

"It might make considerable."

"How?"

"This is a dangerous place for strangers just now."

"Why?"

"The people around here are not taking well to strangers. They entertained one lately, and he got them into a great deal of trouble."

"How so?"

"He proved to be a Government spy, and every stranger that comes on the coast is watched."

"This is a strange statement you are making to me."

"I am warning you."

"You are making sport of me, I fear."

"I am not."

"Are you an honest man?"

"I am."

"I should judge so, if what you tell me is true. A rogue would not warn me."

"What I tell you is true; and because I am an honest man I warn you."

"If you will lead me to the cabin of Tom Pearce all will be well."

"Is the old boatman a friend of yours?"

"Yes."

"Have you seen him lately?"

"No."

"You have not seen him for a long time?"

"I have not seen him for twelve or thirteen years."

A weird suspicion flashed across the detective's mind, and he determined to have some further talk with the man in the rubber coat before he told him where old Tom Pearce resided.

"Is it Tom Pearce you want to see?"

"Yes."

"I will take you to where you can find him."

"To his house?"

"No."

"Where?"

"To a tavern where he resorts."

"I would prefer to see him at his house."

"Do you wish to see him or his daughter?"

The man gave a perceptible start, and demanded:

"Why do you ask that question?"

"I thought it was a good time to put it to you."

"I wish to see Tom Pearce."

"Then you do not care to see his daughter?"

"Has he a daughter?"

"He has a girl living with him."

"Do you know the girl?"

"Well, I should say I did."

"What sort of a girl is she?"

"She's a daisy!"

"A what?" ejaculated the stranger.

"A daisy."

"What do you mean?"

"Just what I say—she's a daisy."

"I do not understand you."

"She's a harum-scarum creature, wild as a hawk and as ugly as a star-fish."

"She is a handsome girl, I suppose?"

"About as handsome as a flounder."

"She is not a pretty girl?"

"Is a flounder a pretty fish?"

"I should say not."

"Then your question is answered."

"Is she a good girl?"

"Good for nothing."

"I see you do not like the girl," remarked the stranger, but he spoke in a sad and disappointed tone.

"I like her well enough."

"Will you lead me to the boatman's cabin?"

"I will on one condition."

"Name your condition."

"You will tell me how long you have been on the coast."

"Half an hour."

"Have you spoken to anyone besides me?"

"No, not since I crossed the bay."

"Why did you say they were a surly people around here?"

"I was speaking of the people across on the mainland."

"And you have not spoken to anyone over here?"

"To no one but yourself."

"Come, I will act as your guide."

"I will pay you well."

"How well?"

"I will give you five dollars."

"All right, come along."

"Have we far to go?"

"Not far."

"We will find the old fisherman abed?"

"I reckon so."

"Will it be well to arouse him?"

"Suppose we arouse the girl?"

"Can you do that?"

"Why, certainly."

The man came to a halt, and for a moment appeared to be lost in deep consideration, but, at length, he aroused himself and made a startling proposition.



CHAPTER XXXVI,

As intimated, a weird suspicion had crossed the detective's mind, and he was acting with a purpose.

The man, after indulging in a few moments' silent thought as described, said:

"Do you think it possible to communicate with the girl alone?"

"Yes."

"You say you are an honest man?"

"I am."

"You can make a large sum of money honestly if you choose."

"Row much?"

"Twenty-five dollars."

"What must I do for the money?"

"Can I trust you?"

"You can trust me when I pass my word."

"I would like to talk to the girl alone for a few moments."

"And you want me to bring her here?"

"Yes."

"And you will give me twenty-five dollars?"

"Yes."

"Will you tell me what you want with the girl?"

"No."

"See here, stranger, I know something about that girl."

"What do you know about her?"

"She is not the daughter of Tom Pearce."

"Is that so?"

"That is the fact."

"Whose daughter is she my friend?"

"She may be your daughter," came the abrupt answer.

"My daughter!" ejaculated the man.

"Yes."

"Why do you say that, my good friend?"

"Why do you wish to see her alone?"

"I wish to ask her sonic questions."

"Ah, I see; you wish to ask her about the box."

The man leaped to his feet and showed signs of great agitation.

"What do you mean?" he demanded, in a trembling tone of voice.

"I mean just what I say."

"You said something about a box."

"Yes."

"Well, what about the box?"

"You wish to ask the girl about it?"

"Yes."

"About the box?"

"Yes."

"Young man, you're crazy. I reckon I do not know anything about any box."

"Oh, yes, you do."

"Which box is it?"

"The box filled with jewels and other rare gems and valuables."

The man approached close to the detective, and whispered.

"Has my daughter got such a box?"

"Your daughter!" exclaimed the detective.

"My friend, I have a strange story to tell. I suspect that the girl is my long-lost daughter."

"You're a fraud," was the idea that ran through the detective's mind. He had observed that the man did not claim Renie as his daughter until an allusion was made to the box of jewels.

"If she is your daughter you ought to know all about the box."

"So I do."

"You know all about it, eh?"

"Yes."

"You know where it is?"

"No. It was left with the child."

"Ah, you know that much!"

"If it is my child we are talking about, I know, all about it. But tell me; is the box in the girl's possession?"

"I reckon we might find it."

"Go and bring the girl to me, and you shall have a hundred dollars."

"I don't know about that; I am afraid you are not an honest man."

"What do you mean?"

"My words are plain enough. Tell me your story."

"I will tell it to the girl."

"In my presence?"

"Why should I tell it in your presence? It's none of your business."

"Oh, yes, it is."

"How?"

"I'm looking after the girl's interests."

"Who are you'?"

"I am her friend."

"Her friend only?"

"That's all."

"Do you wish to earn the hundred dollars"

"I do not care anything about the money; but I wish to see justice done the girl."

"She may look for justice at the hands of her father?"

"Not the father who has deserted her for thirteen or fourteen years."

"That can all be explained."

"Give me a satisfactory explanation, and I will go and bring the girl to you."

"I will explain to her."

"Explain to me."

"No, sir!"

"Very well; clear out, then."

"I think you are a meddlesome young scamp."

"You first addressed me."

"I only asked you a simple question."

"And I've answered you in the most simple manner."

"Take me to the girl's reputed father."

"That is fair; I will do that."

"You are a foolish young, man."

"How so?"

"You might make a large sum of money."

"By bringing the girl to you?"

"Yes."

"I will not do it."

"You will lead me to the fisherman's cabin!"

"Yes."

"All right."

The two men started across the sands, and, after half an hour's walking, came in sight of the cabin of the old fisherman.

"That is the cabin."

"Over there?",

"Yes."

"There are no lights in the cabin."

"They have all retired, probably."

"I promised you five dollars."

"For what?"

"For leading me to the cabin."

"Never mind the money."

"Yes, you must take it."

"I will not."

"I go to the cabin alone."

"I go with you."

"Not one step."

"Who will stop me?"

"I will."

"Not to-night."

"Go and bring the girl to me."

"You have changed your mind?"

"Yes."

"Can I be present during your interview with the girl?"

"Yes."

"All right, I will go and see if I can arouse her without disturbing her father."

"I will wait here?"

"Yes."

"You will return at once?"

"Yes."

"Go."

The detective walked toward the cabin, and as he approached a chill passed over his frame. He recognized certain indices that aroused the gravest apprehensions, and a moment later when he entered the cabin a most terrible and ghastly spectacle met his gaze.

As stated in a preceding chapter, no lights gleamed from the low cabin windows when Vance and the stranger arrived in sight of the home of Tom Pearce.

At the moment it struck the detective as rather strange, as he knew it was the fashion of the old boatman to set a light for the night, as sailors do on board their vessels as the sun goes down at sea, and it was not without some misgivings that he advanced alone toward the cottage.

The detective had determined to arouse old Pearce, and in collusion with the old boatman send Renie out to interview the man in the rubber coat.

As also intimated our hero had reached certain conclusions regarding the stranger, and in his own mind he felt assured that the man was urged by some ulterior motive,

It was in a cautious manner that Vance pushed open the cabin door; all was darkness within; no light had been set, and the detective stood but a second, when a cold chill struck to his very vitals that caused him to recoil.

An ejaculation of amazement fell from his lips as he quickly drew his ever-ready, masked lantern; one moment he stood irresolute, and then advanced again to the cabin door. He thrust forward his lantern; the sharp ray of light penetrated and dispersed the pervading darkness, and, as stated, a sight met his gaze that for the moment froze the blood in his veins.

No light had been set, but a light had been extinguished, put out forever—the light of life in the body of Tom Pearce.

We say a light had been put out; it had not burned out, as the first object that met the gaze of the detective was the body of Tom Pearce.

There was not a question as to the fact that crime had been done. The method of the deep damnation of the old boatman's taking off was plainly apparent.

"Can they both have been murdered" were words which fell in a hoarse whisper from the pallid lips of the detective.

Vance at the first glance concluded that Pearce was the victim of the vengeance of the smugglers, and if they would kill the old man they would not spare the girl.

It was the latter thought that caused the detective's heart to stand still, and when he did partially recover his nerve, his starting eyes moved round in search of the body of the girl. He stepped into the room, and with tottering steps moved over to the door of the adjoining room, the chamber of Renie.

The door was closed, and the detective could not muster the nerve to open it, and a moan of anguish burst from him.

There he stood, an iron-nerved man, trembling and nerveless in expectancy of a revelation of horror; at length he uttered:

"This will not do; I am Vance."

He pushed open the door, thrust forward his lantern and glanced in. The room was vacant. A sigh of relief fell from his lips. He glanced around and became more and more reassured. No ghastly sight of murdered beauty met his gaze, and an ejaculation of thankfulness struggled front between his lips.

The detective began a careful and thorough examination of the room. There were no signs of a struggle, and another significant fact was revealed; the girl's bed had not been occupied; the tragedy had occurred in the day-time or early in the evening, before the old boatman and his family had retired to bed.

The detective returned to the main room and examined the body of the old man. He also made a note of all the surroundings and took possession of several articles that lay scattered about the room. He did more; he sought for evidence as to the identity of the assassin, and found several little articles which he felt certain would aid him in trailing down the guilty man.

Vance returned to the girl's chamber and renewed his search, and succeeded in making several discoveries cries which, he hoped, would serve as valuable clews in the future. He was still searching, and deeply intent upon the duty, when he was disturbed by hearing a voice.

"Great mercy! what has happened here?"

The detective was cool again. He had recovered all his accustomed nerve, and he stepped to the outer room.

A man stood in the door-way. It was the stranger, and he, too, held in his hand a masked lantern.

The man's eyes were fixed upon the face of the corpse.

"What has happened here?" he demanded.

"Come in," said the detective.

"Whose body is that?"

"It is the body of old Tom Pearce."

"He was murdered," said the man.

"Come in," again commanded the detective.

"Did you know this body was here when you left me a few moments ago?"

"I did not."

In a hoarse voice the stranger asked;

"Has the girl been murdered?"

"I trust not."

"Have you searched for her?"

"I have."

"And cannot find her?"

"No."

"What do you know about this tragedy?"

"As much as you do."

"No doubt at all."

"Do you suspect the assassin?"

"I do! but come in."

"I can stand here."

"Come in, you may attract attention of someone passing."

"What harm if I do?"

"No, harm, but it may prove inconvenient, and may interfere with our efforts to learn the fate of the girl."

"One moment; do you know anything concerning this tragedy?"

"All I know is that I came to that door as you did, and my eyes fell upon the ghastly sight."

"Then you came here did you expect to find the old man alive?"

"I did."

"And the girl?"

"Yes."

"Then this is a surprise to you?"

"It is."

The stranger entered the room, and in a stern voice he demanded.

"Young man, who are you?"



CHAPTER XXXVIII.

Vance did not betray the least trepidation, but said, in a calm voice:

"My friend, I was just about to put that same question to you."

"My question came first, and I demand an answer."

"I don't care what you demand."

"I hold you at my mercy."

"Do you think so?"

"You are not what you seem," said the stranger.

"Nor are you," was the quick response.

"Who have I claimed to be, sir?"

"Renie's father."

"And you deny that I am her father?"

"I do."

"Who am I?"

"That is for you to tell."

"Who do you think I am?"

"I am not giving out my thoughts."

"Why not?"

"I've nothing as yet whereon to base an opinion."

"What difference does it male to you who I am?" "Considerable."

"Will you explain how?"

"You are looking for the girl Renie, and so am I."

"You are?"

"Yes."

"What interest have you in the girl?"

"I am her friend."

"Can you find her—do you know where to look for her?"

"I think I do."

"Will you tell me frankly who you are?"

"No."

"And you demand to know who I am?"

"Yes."

"I have the same right as yourself to refuse to disclose my identity.

"No, sir."

"Why not?"

"You have claimed to be the girl's father."

"Well?"

"You are not her father."

"How do you know?"

"I know."

"It is to my interest to find the girl, and it is to your interest to aid me. I will admit to you that I have not disclosed who or what I am."

"You must, if you desire my aid."

"I can pay you for your service. Listen! you claim to be a friend of the girl; so am I her friend."

"You know something concerning her real identity?"

"I do."

"And you desire my co-operation in, discovering the whereabouts of the girl?"

"Possibly I do."

"If you desire my assistance, you must make a confidant of me."

"First tell me; do you believe evil has befallen the girl?"

"Yes."

"What do you suspect?"

"There is no reason why I should make a confidant of you."

"There is."

"Explain wherein."

"If you will prove yourself an honest man, with honest purposes, I will tell you all in good time."

"It will be better to tell me at once."

"I will."

"When?"

"Speedily; but tell me, what has become of her?"

"I do not know."

"Put you admit what you suspect."

"Yes."

"Will you tell me what you suspect?"

"I believe she has been abducted."

The stranger betrayed great agitation. He buried his face in his hands. He was at the mercy of the detective, had the latter been disposed to take advantage of the situation.

A few moments' silence pervaded the room, and a strange scene was presented. On the floor lay the corpse of the boatman; seated in a chair into which he had retreated was the man in the rubber coat, and standing over against him with a stern glance in his eye was the detective.

At length the man uncovered his face, and said:

"You think she has been abducted?"

"Yes."

"Have you any suspicion as to the identity of the abductor?"

"I have."

"And you will know where to look for her?"

"I will know who to look for."

"Do you suspect the motive for the abduction?"

"Yes."

"What was the motive?"

"Renie is a beautiful girl."

"You told me differently before."

"I did."

"Now you admit she is beautiful?"

"Yes; one of the most beautiful girls I ever beheld."

"Will you describe her appearance?"

The detective hesitated a moment, but at length did describe the appearance of Renie.

A detective can better describe a missing person's appearance than any other party, as it is a part of their trade to accustom themselves to the art, and our hero's description was vivid and accurate.

"Yes, yes, it is she," muttered the stranger, involuntarily.

"From the description you are satisfied that the adopted daughter of Tom Pearce is the girl you are looking for, my friend?"

"Yes; there is no doubt."

"You recognize the description?"

"Yes."

"Then you have seen the girl?"

"Not since she was a year old."

"Not since she was a year old?" exclaimed the detective.

"How can you know what she would look like now?"

"I knew her mother."

"I wish I were assured that you are her friend."

"I am her friend."

The real agitation the stranger had betrayed, had modified the detective's original opinion concerning the man.

"Answer me, are you really the girl's father?"

"I am her friend."

"You were at first ready to proclaim yourself her father; now you only claim to be a friend."

"I am her friend, and you must aid me to find her, young man; your service, if successful, will bring you more money than you have previously earned during your whole life."

"Oh, no."

"Yes, sir; I will pay you a fortune if you will find the girl."

"I already possess a fortune."

"You are rich?"

"I am rich."

"Your appearance would not indicate that you were a rich man."

"But you said a moment ago that I was not what I seemed."

"And I was correct?"

"You were right."

"Who are you?"

"Never mind; I am a friend to the girl."

"Why are you her friend"

"I cannot tell you now, but I will admit that I am under deep obligations to her, and when I met you first to-night I was on my way to the cottage."

"How long a time since you saw the girl?"

"It is more than a week."

Strange revelations were to follow.



CHAPTER XXXIX.

The detective was beginning to take a more favorable view of the character of the man in the rubber coat.

"It is over a week since you saw Renie?"

"Yes."

"When you saw her last had you reason to fear any special danger she was likely to encounter?"

"Why do you ask that question?"

"You were on the way to this cottage, as you admit, after a week's absence, and when you reach here and find the old boatman murdered and the girl gone, you claim you have an idea as to what has befallen her."

"You reason well, my friend, and the time has arrived when absolute frankness must exist between you and me; the girl's immediate safety demands that you and I should perfectly understand each other. I will admit that I had a suspicion concerning you."

"A suspicion concerning me!" exclaimed the stranger.

"Yes."

"What suspicion did you indulge?"

"I looked upon you as an enemy of the girl."

"And that is why you first deceived me as to her appearance?"

"Yes."

"I am not her enemy."

"I trust you are not, and I must be convinced that you are not."

"What first led you to set me down as an enemy?"

"Shall I speak plainly?"

"Yes."

"The strange anxiety you showed concerning a certain mysterious box, especially after I had spoken of jewels and gems."

A peculiar smile flitted over the stranger's face, and after a moment's thoughtfulness, he said:

"Surrender the box to me intact, and I will pay you as a reward the money value of all the jewels and gems you may find in it."

"Why are you so anxious to secure the box?"

"It contains proofs of the identity of the girl."

"And when her identity is established?"

"She will come into her rights."

"You know she has been debarred of certain rights?"

"Yes."

"How is it you have let her remain here so many years?"

"I believed her dead."

"When did you hear that she was living?"

"I was summoned a few weeks ago to the dying bed of a notorious criminal. The dying man told me that he had been employed to run away with my child."

"Ah!" interrupted the detective, "you are Renie's father?"

"The girl is my child."

"And you have all along believed her dead."

"I have all along believed her dead; but the dying man told me that she still lived, that he had placed the infant in charge of a fisherman's wife named Pearce. He told me where the fisherman resided at the time the child was confided to his care, and I at once came here to find her."

"Will you tell me the whole story?"

"I can tell you no more."

"Why not?"

"I have reasons."

The detective revolved the man's revelations in his mind. Had the man told him the whole story Vance would have been led to believe the tale, but despite his desire to do so, he still retained a lurking suspicion as to the purpose and motive of the man in the rubber coat.

"Well," said Vance, "the girl is missing."

"So it appears; but we must find her."

"You are right; I advise you to begin an immediate search for her."

"You will aid me?"

"No."

"You will not aid me?"

"I will not."

"Why not?"

"I told you that if you desired my aid you must confide to me all the facts; you have refused, and I refuse to aid you to find the girl." The detective was testing the man, seeking to satisfy himself that the stranger really was the father of the missing Renie.

"Very well," said the stranger, "if you refuse to aid me, I shall prosecute the search on my own account."

"That is all right, but now let me give you a little advice; do not be found running around this coast unattended; your life is in danger."

"And I believe," exclaimed the stranger, "that you are the assassin."

As the man spoke he rose excitedly to his feet, and at the same instant, three men forced their way into the cabin.

A moment the five men glared at each other in silence, and a strange and weird scene was presented.

The strangers were determined-looking men, and, after a moment, one for them—who appeared to be the leader of the party—pointed toward the dead boatman, and said:

"A murder has been committed here?"

"Yes," answered the detective. "We found the old man lying here murdered, as you see."

"You found him lying there?"

"Yes."

"But that man, but a moment ago, denounced you as the murderer."

"The man did not know what he was saying."

"You must give an account of yourself."

The man in the rubber coat hastened to say:

"Mine were but idle words."

"Ah! you did not mean what you said?" remarked the leader of the intruding party.

"I did not."

"You two men are our prisoners."

The man in the rubber coat became greatly excited, and declared his innocence, and protested against arrest, while the detective, as usual, was cool and unconcerned.

"What authority have you to make an arrest?" he demanded.

"We do not need any authority. We find you two men alone; we overheard one of you accuse the other, and that is all the warrant we need."

"I did not mean what I said!" exclaimed the stranger. "I found this man here as you found him. I never met him before an hour ago."

"It makes no difference; you must both give an account of yourselves."

"You shall not arrest me!" protested the stranger.

"You are already under arrest."

The detective was revolving the matter in his mind. He could. not afford to be arrested. He could not give an account of himself; explanations at that moment would be very awkward.

The leader of the three men whispered to one of his companions, and the man addressed withdrew from the cabin. Our hero discerned the purpose of his absence. He had been sent for reenforcements, and it was necessary that he should make a strike at once. He waited for the man who had been sent away, to get beyond hearing, when, in a deliberate manner, Vance said:

"I want you men to get out of this cabin!"

"What right have you to order us out?"

"The same right that you have to declare an arrest."

"Make no attempt to leave this cabin," said the leader.



CHAPTER XL.

It was a critical moment, but the detective had been in worse positions a hundred times. It would have been but a play spell to him had he wanted a scrimmage, but such was not his desire; all he wished was to get out of the place and get away before reenforcements arrived.

"You have no right to threaten me," said Vance.

"We take the right; you are both under arrest, and we will turn you over to the county authorities on the charge of murder."

The detective, unobserved, seized hold of a piece of broken oar, and the moment he had the club in his possession he leaped forward; his attack was so sudden and unexpected he had knocked over both men before they had any idea of his intentions.

As our readers know, the detective was an adept with the club, and a man capable of coolly taking advantage of any little favorable incident. As the men were knocked over he called to the man in the rubber coat:

"Follow me."

The stranger did not reed a second bidding, but leaped across the two prostrate men, and followed the detective from the cabin.

"We must move quickly," said Vance; and he led the way across the sand rifts.

"That was well done," said the stranger.

"It was needful; those men would not have turned us over to the regularly constituted authorities; they are part of a band of lawless men, and we world have been tried and executed before morning, under the auspices of Judge Lynch."

"We will be pursued and tracked," said the stranger.

"Not after we once get across the bay."

"Can you get us across?"

"I should say I could."

"You are a brave and determined man."

"What did you mean by accusing me of the murder?"

"I did not mean it when I accused you; I only wished to learn how you would receive the accusation."

The detective led the way to a little cove where a boat rocked in the tide.

"Can you row?"

"Yes."

"There is a boat; get over to the mainland as quick as you can."

"Will you not go?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"It is not necessary for me to explain to you."

"But I have need of your services."

"We may meet again."

"We must meet again."

"I can be of no service to you."

"You can."

"Never, until you tell me the whole story about Renie. Meantime, you haven't a moment to spare."

"But it is equally dangerous for you to remain here."

"No. I can take care of myself; but I would not be answerable for you."

"Go with me."

"You will remain here until you are, captured. Those men will scour the coast."

"They will find you."

"No."

"Then you must be one of them, that you do not fear them."

"I do not fear them. But you must go at once. Listen! they are already on our track."

"Dare you remain?"

"Yes, yes; but you go."

"When shall I see you again?"

"Do you desire to see me?"

"Yes."

"Where do you stay in New York?"

The stranger gave the name of a hotel.

"Your name!"

"Selton."

"I will call at your hotel to-morrow."

"I can depend upon you?"

"Yes."

"Your name?"

"King."

"I will look for you. Come and see me, and you will make your fortune."

"I will come; and now you hasten away."

The stranger entered the boat, and the detective glided away in the darkness. Vance had gone but a short distance, when he saw several men moving along over the sand, and they were moving toward the cove.

As it proved, Mr. Selton was a good oarsman, and was out of sight when the men reached the beach.

The detective crept down and listened to what the men said.

The fellows had lanterns with them, and discerning the tracks of two men on the beach, they argued that both had gone off in the boat.

"They have got away," said one of the men.

"That's dead sure; and we've lost a good chance."

"What's your idea?"

"The man who beat us was that fellow Ballard. We had him sure, but now it's all day. He's gone off, and he has no further call to the coast."

"What brought him here to-night?"

"He came to find the girl Renie."

"Did you expect him?"

"Yes; Denman sent word to look out for him; our captain knew he would be coming to visit the cabin of old Tom Pearce."

"Who could have murdered Pearce?"

"That's the mystery. I learned to-night that the girl had not been seen on the beach for a number of days; whoever killed old Pearce carried off the girl."

"Sol Burton had a grudge against Tom Pearce and, his daughter."

"Yes, but Burton was away on the 'Nancy.' He had nothing to do with it."

"Do you suspect anyone?"

"Yes."

"Who?"

"Well. I'm not giving out my suspicions; but we've made a blunder in letting that fellow get away tonight; but it's all up now unless some other of the games against him work out all right."

"I tell you we can run over and catch him on the mainland."

"Do you think so?"

"I do."

"Well, there's where your head ain't level. We will never catch him now that he has got away from the coast."

The men walked away and the detective fell to a big scheme.

Quick as lightning he changed his appearance, worked a perfect transformation, and strolled down toward Rigby's, the old resort, of the gang before the storm of adversity set in over them.

Rigby was as deeply interested in the success of the smuggling business as any man connected with it. When trade was good he had plenty of money and did a large business; but when it was bad his business decreased proportionately; up to the time of the arrest of the crew off the "Nancy" Rigby had been a passive man as far as the illicit traffic event, but when Ike Denman was in jail he sent for Rigby, and the man became an active partisan. He had been let into the scheme with the capitalists, and the glow of big money was opened up to him.

A short time after the incident at the cabin of old Tom Pearce the residue of the gang began to assemble at the Rigby place. The men were in an ugly and desperate mood.

Rigby had just returned from a trip to New York, where he had held a second interview with Denman. The men had been awaiting his return.

Meantime the detective had stolen down to Rigby's place, and had taken up an outside position, from whence he could take note for a few seconds, and overhear what immediately followed the man's reappearance.

It was a lucky move on the part of our hero, as he got the remainder of the points needful for the carrying out of his immediate plans.

Rigby had just joined the waiting gang of smugglers, and upon his entrance in their midst, was greeted with the question:

"What news do you bring from York?"



CHAPTER XLI.

Rigby did not make an immediate reply, but glanced around to see who was gathered in the place.

"Come, old man, give us the news."

"I am waiting to see if there are any strangers in our midst."

"There are no strangers present."

"That's all right; I expect some strangers."

"Who do you expect?"

"Well, boys, I'll tell you; I saw Denman, and he let me, into some secrets, and if luck favors, all will come out right; the Government has only one witness."

"Vance?"

"Yes; and if that man can be got rid of all will come out right."

"Did you expect to see Vance here when you looked us over?"

"No; but I expected to see one of the men who was after Vance, and you fellows must go slow if you come across any strangers on the coast."

"There were two strangers on the coast this night."

"There were?"

"Yes."

"Where were they?"

"Up at the Pearce cabin."

"Aha! that means something; but, I'll you, I expect two or three men who are to trail Vance and if they ever catch him on this coast, or anywhere else, they'll down him!"

"Who are the men?"

"Ah! that's just what no one is going to find out, except the few who are inside of the game; but go slow when you meet a stranger during the next few days. Meantime, who was the man up at the Pearce cabin?"

"We counted him as Vance."

"It is possible it may have been Vance."

"There were two of them."

"Two of them?

"Yes."

"Then you can make up your mind that one of these men was was in our interest."

One of the gang related all that had occurred.

"Aha! I see it all. The man in the rubber coat was one of our fellows. He is on the detective's track, you bet and it will all be right for Ike and the rest of the boys in the morning."

The conversation was continued for some time, and the death of old Tom Pearce was discussed in a sort of left hand manner; nothing definite was disclosed, but the detective was led to believe that a little open play on his part might give him a chance to pick up a few facts.

Spencer Vance was afraid of discovery, and was about moving from his hiding place when he became aware of the fact that he had been seen.

A great excitement immediately followed. He stepped out from his hiding-place, and was at once surrounded by a dozen armed men.

The detective as usual, was cool and easy, and, when an opportunity offered, demanded:

"Is there a man in your company named Rigby?"

Silence followed the detective's question. He received no immediate answer, and he once more called out:

"Is there a man in your midst named Rigby?"

The detective spoke in broken English. Rigby answered himself by asking:

"What do you want of Rigby?"

"Is there such a man here?"

"If there is, what difference does it make to you?"

"I have a message for him."

"A message?"

"Yes."

"Who from?"

"I'll tell Rigby."

"See here, my man, don't you go independent, or you will get into trouble."

"I can't get into any trouble if Rigby is around."

"My name is Rigby."

"Can I see you alone?"

"Anything you have to say can be spoken right out; we are all one company here."

"That would not be according to instructions."

Rigby really wanted to talk alone with the man, but did not wish to make it so appear.

"What do you say, boys, shall I let him see me alone?"

"Certainly," came the answer.

"Come along, my friend," commanded Rigby.

The detective followed the proprietor of the tavern inside the house, and was led to a rear room.

"Now what have you got to say?"

"You are Rigby!"

"Yes, I am Rigby."

"I must not make a mistake."

"You are not making a mistake."

"All right, then you are to give me your aid?"

"Give you my aid?"

"Yes."

"I don't understand."

"I am on the lay for Vance."

"Aha! that's the racket!"

"Yes."

"Who sent you here?"

The detective mentioned the name of a man Rigby, had not spoken of during his talk with the smugglers.

"Do you know Denman?"

"The captain of the Nancy?"

"Yes."

"I never saw him. I took no orders from him."

"Do you expect Vance down here?"

"I know he is coming."

"When?"

"He may come tonight."

"What is his game?"

"He is going to investigate the death of Tom Pearce."

"Aha! does he know Pearce is dead?"

"Yes."

"How did he get that information?"

"It was carried to him."

"By whom?"

"That I cannot tell."

"He really knows the old boatman is dead?"

"Yes."

"Will he come alone?"

"No."

"Who comes with him?"

"Half a dozen other detectives."

"Then how will you have a chance to catch him?"

The detective was silent a moment. He looked Rigby all over in a supercilious manner, but at length answered:

"Don't you know how detectives work?"

"I'd like to have you tell me."

"He will hold his men in the background, and he will go alone to investigate, and call in his aids at the right moment."

"Ah! I see! and you will play against him?"

"If I am not interfered with I will."

"How do you know he has not been here?"

"I know he has not been here."

"Two men were here."

"Yes, I was on their track. I know who they were."



CHAPTER XLII.

Rigby did not for a moment appear to suspect the truthfulness of the detective's story.

"Who were they?" he demanded.

"Detectives."

"And Vance was one of them?"

"No."

"Were they connected with him?"

"That I cannot answer."

"And what do you propose to do,"

"Lay around for my man, if I am not interfered with. It is my game to appear as one of the gang, and that will give me a chance to get well in on his trail when he comes."

"I can fix that part of the business for you."

"That is all I want; but, if I am to be jumped at every time I make a move, I'll get away."

"You were hiding around here?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't you cone out openly?"

"I was waiting to got a chance to see you alone. I did not want to be known to all your friends—you never can tell who, will talk too much."

"Our men don't talk."

"Some of them must have talked."

"What makes you think so?"

"How, else would Vance find out about the death of old Tom Pearce?"

"The death of Tom Pearce is as much a mystery to our men as to anyone else."

"Vance thinks your men did it."

"How do you know?"

"I've lain on his track, and overheard him talking with the United States District Attorney."

"Our men know nothing, about the death of Tom Pearce."

"Have they a suspicion?"

"I have not heard them say."

"I wish I had a point on that affair."

"Why?"

"It would give me a sure hitch on Vance."

"It's a good scheme; I will talk with the boys and see if any of them have any suspicion."

"What will you tell them about me?"

"Oh, I will fix that all right."

"They must not bother me."

"You will not be bothered."

"That's all right; go and see if you can pick up any points."

The detective was left alone; he was really only working the game to learn all he could about the death of old Tom Pearce, and all he wished to know was whether the smugglers had killed the old man or not; if they were innocent, he knew just in what direction to look for the assassin, and also where to look for the beautiful Renie.

Meantime the gang were anxiously waiting to hear the result of Rigby's conference with the man whom they had caught eavesdropping around the tavern.

Rigby rejoined his friends and customers, who at once crowded around him.

"Well, who is the fellow?"

"He's all right, boys; you remember what I told you about strangers being around here on the lookout for Vance!"

"Is that fellow one, then?"

"He's all right."

"Have you seen his credentials?"

"I tell you he is all right."

"Don't like his looks," said one man.

"Don't like his actions," said another.

"The way we found him looks bad," said a third.

"Now you fellows rest quiet; I know who the man is, and he's all right, the man don't travel who can fool me."

"You are satisfied he's all right?"

"Yes."

"Who were the other two men who were up at the cabin where the body of old Pearce lies?"

"Those are the fellows you ought to have nipped."

"Was Vance one of them?"

"That we can't tell, but Vance will be here to-night; and if you men do not spoil the game we can fix things all right."

"Is that what that fellow told you?"

"I know what I am talking about."

"Vance is to be here to-night?"

"Yes."

"Well, it's time he was here."

The answer caused a laugh.

Rigby saw that the men were not satisfied, and he sought to change the subject. He said:

"So old Pearce is dead?"

"He is."

"Where's the girl?"

"That's more than we'll tell you."

"I always thought Renie's good looks would bring trouble to someone sooner or later," said Rigby.

"You don't think any of the gang had anything to do with bringing harm to the old man?"

There came a general denial of any such suspicion.

The men, however, appeared to be quite restive as to the identity of the man whom they had found prowling around. Rigby went inside to report what he had heard to the detective, and upon opening the door he uttered an exclamation of astonishment.

"Well, this gets me," he muttered.

The room was vacant—the man had left.

"Where can he be?" muttered Rigby and he commenced a search, but the man was nowhere to be found.

A curse fell from his lips.

"Have I been fooled, after all?" he muttered. "I'll be shot if it don't look so."

The tavern-keeper continued his search, but it proved fruit less; the man was nowhere to be found.

"I daren't go and tell the boys about this," he muttered: "but it looks as though I had bees fooled."

The real fact was the tavern-keeper had been fooled.

Vance was not the man to depend upon hearsay. He had followed after Rigby, and had overheard every word that had passed between the man and his friends.

The detective a was fully convinced, from what he over-heard, that the smugglers were innocent of old Tom Pearce's death; indeed, he had so believed from the first; but it was one of his methods to make sure, and when once really convinced he knew as stated, where to look for the real assassin, and he folded his tent, like the Arab, and as silently stole away.



CHAPTER XLIII.

Upon the day following the scenes described in our preceding chapter, a strange interview was in progress in a magnificent apartment in a house situated in one of the most fashionable quarters of New York.

A beautiful young lady, richly attired, had been sitting alone in the elegant apartment described when a man of dark complexion entered the room, and, with silent step and a pleased smile upon his dark face, he advanced toward the girl.

Just a moment preceding the entrance of the dark-faced man, the girl had indulged in a brief soliloquy. She murmured:

"Well-well, my mind is made up. I have fooled that villain! He thinks I love him. He thinks I have been dazzled and bewildered by the possession of all these fine clothes and the wearing of these costly jewels; but he is mistaken. I hate him—I abhor him! He is an assassin! He thinks I do not know it; but I saw him strike down that good old man, Tom Pearce, and I have but hired him on with a promise of my love, only that I might hold him until an opportunity offers to hand him over to justice."

A moment the girl was thoughtful and silent, but speedily she resumed her soliloquy, salving:

"I wonder what could have become of Vance! He lives—he has been successful, I saw in a paper yesterday. Why does he not come to me? Well, well! as he does not come to me, I will go to him. It is time that I unmasked before this scoundrel, who thinks he has won me by the tragedy through which he temporarily obtained possession of me. But we shall see! I am 'Renie, the Wild Girl of the Shore,' as Vance once called rue, and I will prove myself more than a match for this deep, designing scoundrel."

The girl had just uttered the words above quoted when the door opened, and the man entered the room.

As stated, he advanced with a pleased smile upon his face.

"Renie, darling," he said. "I have pleasant news for you."

"Indeed!"

"Yes, my dear. To-day we sail for my beautiful home in Cuba where you will be the belle of society, and where we shall be married."

"We sail for Cuba to-day?"

"Yes, to-day."

"I thought you did not intend to go until the season was more advanced?"

"I have decided to go to-day; business calls me there."

"And you sail to-day?"

"Yes."

"I cannot go with you."

"You cannot go with me?"

"No."

At that moment a most extraordinary incident occurred, but its real character cannot be revealed until our narrative has progressed. The incident, however, caused a complete change to come over the girl. She had glanced in a mirror behind the man who had just made the announcement to her, and she had beheld a sight which caused, as stated, a complete change to come over her demeanor. "You must go without me," sail the girl. The latter spoke in a different tone.

The man glanced at her, and asked:

"Why Renie, what has come over you. Did you not give me to understand that you were prepared to go with me to Cuba any time I desired?"

"Yes; I gave you so to understand."

"Then why do you now refuse to go?"

"I will tell you; the time has come for me to unmask, Mr. Garcia."

"The time has come for you to unmask?"

"Yes."

"I do not understand."

"You shall."

"I must."

"Murderer, I have been playing you that I might in the end entrap you into the hands of justice."

A change had come over the demeanor of the girl; but a still more remarkable change came over the face of Garcia. He glanced at the girl with blazing eyes, and his hands worked nervously and there was a tremulousness in his voice as he asked:

"Are you mad, girl?"

"No, I am not mad. Do you not think I have been deceived; I know you, I have known who you were all the time, thou chief of the smugglers."