Transcriber's Note:
This book is an example of early pulp fiction. It was
published in 1908 by The Arthur Westbrook Co. as Adventure
Series No. 76. "Old Sleuth" is the pseudonym of Harlan Page
Halsey (1837-1898).

THE "DOCK RATS" OF NEW YORK

OR

THE SMUGGLER BAND'S LAST STAND

BY "OLD SLEUTH"

CHAPTER I.

"Hold, Stranger!"

The words fell from beautiful lips under the most exciting
circumstances.

A boat rocked upon the calm water that murmured along the
shore, when a young man came down from the upper bank of white
drift sand, and seized the tiller rope. He had the rope in
his hand, his arm was upraised to draw the boat to his feet,
when he was startled by hearing the words with which we open
our narrative.

The young man turned toward the speaker, and encountered a
sight that caused his handsome eyes to bulge with amazement.

It was a clear, cloudless night, and a half moon shed its
diminished radiance on surrounding objects, and revealed to
the astonished gaze of the young man the weird-appearing
figure of a young girl.

One glance was sufficient to announce the fact that the girl
was beautiful, but alas! in what questionable shape did she
appear? She was attired in a loose gown tightened about the
waist with a leathern belt, her feet were bare, and her long
hair hung unkempt upon her shoulders.

As our old-time readers know, we are not heavy on the
beauty-describing business, and we will merely declare that
the girl was indeed a lovely creature, clad in rags; but she
was beautiful, and Spencer Vance, the young man, discerned
the fact at a glance, and his amazement was the greater
because of the thrilling conditions under which re beheld
so great loveliness.

The young man made no immediate answer to the girl's abrupt
salutation, but merely stood and gazed at her without any
attempt to conceal his utter astonishment.

"You must not go off in the yacht to-night!" said the girl.

"Why must I stay ashore to-night?"

"Danger is ahead of you!"

"But I am an old sailor, miss; I can take care of myself, I
reckon."

The girl drew close to the young man, laid her hand upon his
arm, and in a husky voice, whispered:

"The danger comes not from the sea! You will be a victim!"

The young man let the boat line fall from his grasp, a fierce
light shone in his eyes, and there was a tremulousness, but
not of fear, in his voice as he demanded:

"Who sent you to tell me this?"

"It matters not, you are doomed if you go on the yacht
to-night! never again will your feet press the hard shore,
but the waves will cast you up!"

"Who are you, miss, and why have you come to warn me?"

A moment the girl was silent. She hung her head and appeared
lost in thought, but at length, looking up and fixing her
magnificent blue eyes upon the young man, she said:

"I do not know who I am, but I do know that if you go out on
the yacht to-night, you will never return till the waves wash
your dead form to the beach!"

"You must have some reason for coming to warn me?"

"Yes; I would save your life!"

"Why are you so deeply interested in saving my life?"

"I would warn anyone whom I knew was in peril! and you must
heed my words!"

"I cannot!"

"Are you seeking death?"

"No."

"I do not understand."

"And I cannot explain, but I must go out though death meet
me upon the crest of every wave."

The girl again remained silent for a moment, but, at length in
a still lower whisper, she said:

"You have been betrayed!"

The young man started, and a slight pallor overspread his
handsome face as he caught the girl's delicate arm in his firm
grasp, and demanded:

"Who am I?"

"You are Spencer Vance."

The young man could not conceal an expression of extreme
astonishment.

"Who told you my name was Spencer Vance?"

"It matters not, but take heed; do not go out on the sea
to-night."

"I tell you I must! I will go, but you must tell me what you
know of Spencer Vance."

"You are a revenue detective; you are in the employ of the
Government; you have been betrayed, and to-night you are to be
silenced if you go out on the yacht!"

"Do the men on the yacht know who I am?"

"They do not know your name, but they suspect you are a
Government detective, and they have determined to put you out
of the way; to-night they will do the deed if you go."

"Someone must have told them I was a Government officer."

"Yes; someone told them."

"Do you know who gave the information?"

"I do."

"Will you tell me?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I have warned you, now go your way, and save your life! they
are desperate men, the waves have already received three of
their victims within a year go, and your doom is sealed!
Nothing can save you!"

"I shall go!"

"You do not believe my words?"

"I will believe you if you will tell me who betrayed me to the
smugglers."

"I did!" came the starring response.

The detective stood the girl off from him at arm's length, and
studied her from feet to head.

The girl stood and calmly submitted to the inspection.

"So you are the traitor?"

"No."

"You admit you betrayed me?"

"I am no traitor! I owe nothing to you! I had a right to
inform the boys if I saw fit, and I did so."

"And now you come and warn me?"

"Yes."

"Why do you warn me, if you are the one who set them on to
murder me?"

"I did not think they would murder you, and now I have come to
warn you."

"Are you engaged in the business?"

"NO."

The girl spoke in a scornful tone, and her eyes dashed with
indignation.

"Who are you?"

"I do not know who I am."

A strange look came into the detective's eyes as an idea
dashed through his mind.

"Are you the child of a wreck?"

"I do not know. I know nothing about myself."

"Whom do you live with?"

"The man who calls himself my father."

"Is he not your father?"

"No."

"Has he confessed to you that he is not your father?"

"No."

"Then how do you know he is not your father?"

"I know he is not."

"Why do you live with him?"

"Where should I go? I have no other home, and he is kind to
me."

"Is he a smuggler?"

"It is not fair to ask me that question."

"Why not?"

"I have told you all that was needful to warn you of your own
peril; you should not take advantage of my frankness."

The detective looked upon the lovely girl with a deep sense of
pity in his heart. Her appearance seemed to tell her tale,
and it was sad to think that such wondrous beauty was but the
plaything of a gang of rough sailors.

"Are you married?" asked the detective, abruptly:

"No," came the answer, in a quick, decisive tone.

"Will you tell me your name?"

"They call me Renie."

"And your father's name?"

"Tom Pearce."

"The boat-keeper?"

"Yes."

"And you informed the men who I was?" repeated the detective.

"Yes."

"How did you find out that I was a Government officer?"

"I will not tell you."

"How did you find out that the men intended to go for me
to-night?"

"I overheard them arranging their plans."

"Do they know that you overheard them?"

"No."

"Then when they discover that I am up to their plans, will
they not accuse you of having betrayed them?"

"That is a question I cannot answer."

"I am astonished that you should put me in this peril, and
then come and warn me!"

"I tell you I did not think my information would be followed
by anything serious."

"But you tell me that three other officers have suffered by
them."

"I did not know that until after I had told them who you
were."

"Did you tell them directly?"

"No."

"Well, Renie, I am much obliged to you."

"And you will not go off in the yacht to-night?"

"I will think the matter over."

"Promise me that you will not go!" pleaded the girl, in an
earnest tone.

"I will not promise; but if I do go, you need have no fear. I
can take care of myself, forewarned, you know, is forearmed.
Good-night, Renie."

"I shall never forgive myself if you are injured!"

"Thank you for your interest; but you need have no fear. I
can take care of myself; the crew of the yacht 'Nancy' will
not toss me to the fishes to-night."

The girl turned and walked away under the moonlight, and a
strange impulse caused the detective to follow her.

The girl moved along like an uncouth apparition over the
yielding sand, and had traversed fully a quarter of a mile
along the shore, when suddenly a man leaped down from the bank
and confronted her.

The detective, in shadowing the strange girl, had kept well in
under the shadow of the bluff, and could not have been seen;
and when he saw the man confront the girl, he moved rapidly
forward, and gained a point near enough to overhear the talk
that passed between them.

The man was a rough, villainous-looking fellow, and his voice
was coarse and his manners vulgar. It was evident that the
girl was annoyed at meeting him, as was immediately betrayed
by her manner.

"Hello, Renie, I've been waiting a long time for a chance to
have a talk with you."

"I do not wish to have a talk with you, though, Sol Burton; so
good-night!"

"Not so fast, my pretty bird; I've something to tell you."

"And I don't wish to stop and listen to you."

"You would if you knew all I had to tell."

"Well, as I don't know all you've got to tell, and as I don't
desire to listen to you, I'll bid you good-night."

"You always were down on me, Renie, but I'm a friend of your'n
arter all, and I've collared the secret of your life, and I'd
tell it to you, only you're so darn uppish when I go to speak
to you."

The detective saw the girl advance toward the rough-looking
man, and overheard her say:

"You know the secret of my life?"

"Yes."

"What secret is there of my life?"

"Tom Pearce is not your daddy, but I know how you came to be
his adopted child."

The girl trembled from head to foot.

"Sol Burton, tell me all you know."

"Ah! you will listen to me, my pretty bird?"

"Yes, I will."

CHAPTER II.

The man chuckled as he said:

"I thought you would listen to me when I let on what I
know'd."

"Tell me the secret!" commanded the girl.

"Oh, yes, Renie! but I've a condition."

"A condition? What condition would you exact?"

"You must become my wife. There, the thing's out; so now,
what have you got to say?"

"I say, no!"

"That's your decision?"

"That's my decision."

"Be careful, gal. I only asked you to marry a me to give you
a chance; remember you're nobody's child, and I've hooked on
to the secret."

"You're a mean man, Sol Burton, to threaten me!"

"Well, the fact is, Renie, I like you! I'm dead in love with
you, and I'm willing to marry yer, and that's more than most
of the fellows round here would do, knowing all I know."

"Good-night, Sol Burton, I'll not stop to talk with you, nor
will I tell my father that you said insulting words to me."

"What do you suppose I care about Tom Pearce? I can whisper a
few words in his ear that will take some of the starch out of
him! He's been mighty uppish about you, although he's let you
run round the beach barefoot these sixteen years."

"Go talk to Tom Pearce, and do not be the coward to repeat
your threats to me!"

The girl started to move away, when the man suddenly leaped
forward and grasped her in his arms, but the same instant he
received a blow which sent him reeling, as the girl was
snatched from his rude grasp.

A curse fell from the man's lips, and he arose to his feet and
advanced toward the man who had struck him.

"Run home, little girl!" whispered the detective; "I will take
care of this brute!"

"Thank you!" said the girl, and she glided away along the
beach.

"See here, you're the man who struck me?"

"Yes; I'm the man."

"I think I've seen you before."

"I think we've met before."

"What did you hit me for?"

"I struck you because you put your hands rudely upon the
girl."

"Yer did, eh?"

"Yes."

The man leaned toward the detective with the remark:

"Well, it's my turn now!"

And his turn it proved to be, as he received a rap, which
caused him to turn clean over.

Sol Burton was raving mad when he once more regained his feet;
the fellow was an ugly chap, a great bully ashore, and a cruel
heartless man afloat. As he arose he exclaimed:

"All right, you're fixed for me to-night; but my time will
come! I'll get square with you before you're much older!"

Sol Burton turned and walked away a baffled man.

Spencer Vance walked to the point on the beach where he had
stood when the girl had come to him with the strange warning.

The young man was a Government officer, a special detective,
and had been assigned to the collector at the port of New
York to run down an organized gang of smugglers who were known
to be doing a large business off the Long Island coast.

Several detectives had been detailed to work up the matter,
and one after another they had mysteriously disappeared, and
the Government had never succeeded in solving the mystery of
their taking off; and further, none of the officers had ever
been able to locate the head-quarters of the gang.

One fact had been established: large quantities of smuggled
goods had been carried into New York, and each week the
Government was swindled out of thousands of dollars of
revenue; and the illicit traffic had grown to such an extent
that a number of honest merchants had subscribed a large sum
of money which had been placed at the disposal of the
collector to be used as a fund for the breaking up of the
gang, who were ruining regular importers in certain branches
of trade and commerce.

Spencer Vance, although but a young man, had quite a
reputation as a detective. He had done some daring work in
running down a gang of forgers, and in the employ of a State
Government, he had been very successful in breaking up several
gangs of illicit whisky distillers. He was a resolute, cool,
experienced man, an officer who had faced death a hundred
times under the most perilous circumstances. And when
summoned upon the new duty he accepted the position readily.

By methods of his own he got upon the track of the workers;
the men who did the actual work of landing the contraband
goods.

The latter were not the really guilty men. They were not the
principals, the capitalists; but they were the employees who
for large pay ran off the coast, intercepted the steamers
carrying the contraband goods, and landed them within certain
assigned limits.

The men ostensibly were fishermen, and honest people among
whom they associated never "tumbled" to their real calling.

CHAPTER III.

The necessities of our narrative do not demand that we should
locate the exact quarter where the smugglers operated; and,
besides, as there were numerous gangs covering a space of
fifty miles along the coast, it would be almost impossible to
indicate intelligibly the field of their operations, were we
so inclined.

Spencer Vance, as stated, had adopted his own measures for
locating the men; in his earlier life he had been a sailor,
and had worked his way up until at the age of nineteen he held
the position of second mate on a large schooner; and when he
was assigned to the special duty of "piping" the smugglers,
his sea experience came in good play, and was of great aid to
kiln in his perilous duty.

The officer started out on his work by taking passage to the
Island of Cuba, and one day in the port of Havana a ragged
sailor dropped into a groggery kept by a Frenchman and made
himself acquainted with a number of sailors, who were having a
good time ashore.

The ragged Jack told his own tale, won upon the good-will of
the jolly fellows who were in for a good time, and in the end
was shipped for New York on a fast-sailing schooner.

The detective had an eye on the schooner, and well knew, when
as a sea-tramp he shipped on the vessel, he had struck a
smuggler.

It was a clear starry night when the vessel sighted the Long
Island shore after having slipped inward past Fire Island.

The detective lay low and watched for some hours.

He had known that something unusual was in progress on board
the schooner. The captain was below, and one of the mates had
charge of the deck; a light shone in the distance, like a red
star dancing over the waves, and the men on the schooner moved
about in a stealthy manner to and fro across the deck.

It was a strange thing to do; why should they tread thus
lightly the deck of a ship ten miles off shore, as though
their footsteps might be heard? Alas! it was a case of
involuntary stealth, a sign of the nervous, trepidation which
attends conscious guilt.

It did not seem that there could be any danger near; the
heavens were clear, the bosom of the deep unruffled even by an
evening breeze. Nature called not for the coward tread, and
the gleaming eye, the pale face, and the anxious glance hither
and thither. No, no; but the smugglers feared another peril.
Revenue cutters were known to be cruising along the coast;
more than ordinary vigilance was being exercised by a robbed
Government.

The men upon the schooner knew that the revenue officers were
up to many of their tricks and were posted as to many of their
signals; false lights might gleam across the waters like an
ignis fatuus luring on a famished traveler in the desert, and
within the hour after their calling had been betrayed, every
man might be in irons, and the cargo and the vessel would be
confiscated.

A fortune was at stake, and the shadow of a prison loomed out
over across the waters and threatened to close in behind them.

Spencer Vance, the disguised detective, the supposed sea-tramp,
moved about with the smugglers, acting as they acted, stepping
on tiptoe, and looking pale and anxious, and it did not require
that he should assume the pale excited look, for it was a
momentous crisis. He had hit the vessel the first clip, and he
had struck the trail which had baffled men who claimed a larger
experience in that particular branch of the detective service.
He had "piped" down to a critical moment, but he carried his
life in his hands. He was not watched, but one false move
might draw attention toward him, and but a mere suspicion at
that particular moment would cost him his life; these men would
not have stopped to bandy, words or make inquiries.

As stated, there came the gleam of a light flashing across the
calm waters, and the men who were not on ship duty strained
their eyes. Soon there followed a succession of lights,
signal lights telling their story, and then the schooner men
let out answering lights, and the sails were lowered and the
schooner merely drifted upon the bosom of the deep.

Spencer Vance was speechless with excitement as the little
game proceeded.

At this period in our story we will not describe the modus
operandi, as later on we propose to fully depict the
smugglers' methods under more exciting circumstances, when
Spencer Vance was better prepared to checkmate the game. We
have here only indicated in an introductory form the
detective's keen plan for running down and locating the haunts
of the pirates.

Three days following the maneuvers of the schooner off the
coast, the detective appeared at a fishing village, and at
once he set to locating his shore men.

It was not the poor sailors, who were mere instruments in the
robbery scheme, whom the detective was seeking to "pipe" down.
His game was to follow certain clews until he trailed up to
the capitalists, the really guilty parties, the rich men who
flaunted in New York in elegance and luxury on their ill-gotten
gains.

The detective had got an good terms with one of the gangs. He
had been off several times with them an a cruise, and considered
that he was fast working down to a dead open-and-shut, and the
really guilty parties, when he received the strange wanting at
the hands of the weird, but beautiful girl who called herself
Renie Pearce.

That same night the detective had engaged to go off in the
yacht; it was understood that a smuggler was expected off the
coast that night, and he was looking to strike on a big "lay."

We must explain to our readers that the arrival of expected
vessels is an uncertain event, and the shore watchers were
sometimes compelled to go off night after night, even for
weeks, before the vessel, sending out the long-looked-for
signals, hove in sight off the horizon; and it was on these
vigil nights the detective had sailed out with the men. He
had thought his game well played, his disguise perfect, his
victory sure, when, as stated, at the last moment, a strange,
beautiful girl came along and whispered in his ear the
terrible warning that danger awaited him if he went off in the
boat that night.

Spencer Vance, however, was undaunted; the warning was not
sufficient to deter him going off and braving death in the way
of duty, and he would have gone had not an incident occurred
that caused him to await another opportunity.

As recorded, after his encounter with Sol Burton, he returned
to where his boat lay, determined to go off to the yacht, when
a second time an apparition glided to his side and whispered a
few startling words in his ear.

CHAPTER IV.

The detective stood by his boat thinking over the thrilling
position of affairs, when Renie Pearce once more appeared
before him.

"Hello! you've come back, eh?" called the detective.

"Yes."

"Well, what now?"

"You are determined to go off to-night."

"Well?"

"You must not go, there's better game for you ashore!"

The detective was thrown off; he could not understand the
girl. Renie had confessed that she had originally betrayed
him to the smugglers, and then, when danger threatened, she
came and warned him, and her warning failing, she came
tripping to him once more, barefooted, ragged, and beautiful,
and held out to him an alluring bait.

There was no misunderstanding the purport of her words. She
betrayed the fact that she knew his full purpose, and her
words implied that she was ready to throw him a larger and
more certain game. Her words were, "There's better game for
you ashore!"

"Are you, my friend, Renie?"

"Yes; I am your friend."

"If you are my friend, why did you betray me to the
smugglers?"

"I was not your friend then, I am your friend now. I can
serve you and you can serve me! Your life is in danger. You
will never return if you go out in the yacht to-night. I had
prepared you for your doom, but now I will save you, and again
I tell you that there's better game ashore."

"Why should I trust you! do you not confess to having betrayed
me?"

"I only knew you then as a government detective; now I know
you are a man."

"You must have made the latter discovery very suddenly."

"I did."

"When?"

"When you knocked Sol Burton down; that man meant me harm. I
could have defended myself against him, but a greater peril
menaces me to-night."

"What peril menaces you?"

"I have no confidant in the world; shall I make one of you?"

"Yes."

"My confidence may get you into trouble."

"How sad."

"You are a brave, noble man; you will desire to act as my
champion."

"You are a strange girl."

"Yes; mine is a hard lot; I am a waif; I am nothing; I am all
outcast; a thing, and yet--"

The girl ceased. She had spoken with a wild energy, and she
had looked ravishingly beautiful while talking.

"And yet, what?" said the detective interrogatively.

"My heart is full of all the ambitions that might fill the
heart of a girl born in the midst of splendor and luxury; and
although the companion of smugglers, I love only what is pure
and beautiful; I cherish the fondest dreams, and yet--"

Again the detective supplemented:

"Well, go on."

"I am a poor, ragged, barefooted girl, the daughter of a
boat-keeper, and that is not all!"

"Tell me all."

"Shall I?"

"Yes."

"I had reason to suppose that my pretended father was my
friend; one thing is certain no millionaire ever guarded a
fair daughter with more tenderness than he has guarded me. He
has sent me to school, and has permitted me to become educated
far above my station. You know in this land that is an easy
thing for a poor man to do, but within a few days strange
suspicions have crossed my mind; no man even among the
roughest of them ever dared insult me. Tom Pearce would have
killed the man who dared bring one faint flush to my cheek
with his vile tongue! but alas! I fear--fear."

"What do you fear?"

"Shall I say it?"

"Certainly."

"I fear his tender care of me has been a speculation."

"You do not believe he is your friend?"

"I fear he is not."

"Some enemy may have traduced Tom Pearce."

"No; the words that aroused my suspicions fell from his own
lips."

"And what do you fear?"

"You must learn from other lips."

"Who will tell me?"

"If you are to know at all, you must learn my fears from the
lips of my enemies."

"How shall I do that?"

"Are you willing to serve me?"

The detective was silent. He was certainly charmed and lured
by this beautiful child of the shore, but could he afford to
undertake to be the champion of a barefooted girl, though she
did own a strangely beautiful face?

"If you serve me I will serve you."

"What can you do for me?"

The girl's eyes gleamed as she answered:

"Let me but know that these men are my foes, that I owe them
no gratitude, and I can give you information for which the
government would pay thousands! and even to-night in serving
me you would also serve yourself."

"Will you tell me how?"

"One of the bosses is to visit the shore to-night."

"Aha! there is where the whale blows."

"Yes."

"Who does he visit?"

"Tom Pearce."

"What is his purpose?"

"I only guess."

"What do you guess?"

"Am I to speak more plainly to you, or can you not discern?"

"Have you ever met the man?"

"Yes."

"You fear him?"

"I do not know yet; you may find out."

"What do you suspect?"

A moment the girl was silent, but at length she said:

"I suspect I am to be sent away!"

"You mistrust your reputed father?"

"I do."

"And this man comes to-night?"

"Yes."

"You would offer a suggestion?"

"Are you prepared to take advantage of my information?"

"I am."

"Watch them: learn their purpose!"

"Where do they meet?"

"In my father's cabin."

"Lead me there."

"I will."

The detective decided not to go off in the yacht that night.
He preferred to be "taken in tow" by beautiful little
barefoot, and strange adventures were the outcome of his
change of plans.

The detective and the girl traversed a mile and a half of the
beach and then struck inland, and soon came in sight of the
glimmer of lights gleaming forth from a fisherman's shanty.

"They meet there. You know how to act, and I can give you no
'points' when it comes to 'piping.' Good-bye for the
present."

The girl glided away and the detective proceeded toward the
cabin only to encounter a series of thrilling, extraordinary,
and startling adventures.

CHAPTER V.

Spencer Vance had become greatly interested in the beautiful
Renie during the walk along the beach. He had become deeply
impressed with the purity, yet weirdness of her character. He
had pressed the girl for some reminiscence of her early
childhood, but she had no recollections beyond the sea and the
fisherman's cabin where she had lived with old Tom Pearce and
his wife.

Her supposed father had for years rowed her every morning
across the bay to the mainland, where she had attended the
village school, from whence she had passed to the high school,
at which her reputed father had supported her for a couple of
years.

Mrs. Pearce died suddenly one day after a few hours' illness.
Just before her death Renie was alone with her in the room.
The woman had been unconscious, but she momentarily recovered
consciousness and summoned the girl to her bedside and
attempted to communicate some parting intelligence, but alas!
she only succeeded in uttering a few disjointed exclamations,
suggestive, but not directly and fully intelligible. The
half-uttered exclamations only served to confirm certain
suspicions that had long floated unsuggested through the
girl's mind, and her disappointment was bitter when the icy
hand of death strangled the communications which the dying
woman was seeking to make.

The girl had formed a sort of attachment for Tom Pearce. The
man was a good-natured, jolly sailor sort of a fellow, and, as
intimated, had always treated the girl with the utmost
kindness and consideration.

It was thus matters stood up to the time of the detective's
strange meeting with the girl upon the beach.

As the girl pointed to the house and concluded the words which
close our preceding chapter, she glided away, and left the
detective to "work his own passage".

During the walk along the beach Renie had been a little more
explicit in explaining her immediate peril, and our hero was
prepared to more intelligently enact the role of the
eavesdropper.

The cabin of Tom Pearce, the boatman, was an ordinary
fisherman's hut, built in the midst of white sand-hills, with
a few willows planted on a little patch of made earth, and
serving as protectors against the fierce summer blaze of the
sun.

The detective crept up to the cabin, and climbing upon a rear
shed which served as a cover to several boats and a large
quantity of nets, he covered himself with a fragment of old
sailcloth, and secured a position from where, through a little
opening which in the summer was left unclosed, he could see
into the main room of the cottage. He could not only see, but
could as readily overhear any conversation that might occur.

Glancing into the room, he saw Tom Pearce, whom he had seen
many times before on board several of the boats that sail over
the bay. The fisherman, or rather smuggler, was seated before
a table on which stood a ship's lamp, reading what appeared to
be an old time-stained letter, and after an interval he
muttered aloud:

"Well, well, I don't know what to do! That girl is dear to my
old heart, and I'd rather die than any harm should come to
her; and again I don't like to stand in her way; while
according to this letter from the old woman, written nigh on
to thirteen years ago, I've no right to let her pass from my
possession."

The mutterings of the old man were interrupted by a loud rap
at his rickety door.

"Come in!" called the old smuggler.

The door opened, and a roughly dressed man strode into the
cabin.

"Hello, Pearce! I see you are here to meet me."

"Yes, Mr. Garcia, I'm waiting for you."

Mr. Garcia took a seat by the table opposite the old smuggler,
and saw the latter crumple the letter, and put it in his
pocket.

"Eh, old man, what's that your hiding?"

"Nothing that will interest you, sir; it's only an old
letter from my dead wife, sent to me many years ago
when she was visiting some of her friends over in
Connecticut."

"How about this Government officer who has been prowling
around here?" was the next question which fell from Garcia's
lips.

"Well, that's more than I can tell you, but he'll be fixed
to-night, whoever he is! Yes, sir, he'll not cause the lads
any trouble, they've 'tumbled' to him! too soon."

"They've tumbled, eh?"

"Yes; and they got up a false cruise to-night on purpose to
carry him out to sea."

"How was it the boys chanced to 'drop' to him?"

"Renie did the business."

"Renie did the business?" ejaculated the man.

"Yes, sir; she went through him. She is a wonderful girl, she
is, but I don't think she really meant to give the fellow
away, but we caught her in a trap."

"You caught her in a trap?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"Well, she was sending a message to warn the detective of his
danger, and the letter was intercepted, and so we got into the
whole business. I tell you the fellows were mad, and had it
been anybody but Renie they'd never have sent another
message."

"Does Renie know her letter was intercepted?"

"I don't think she does."

"Why would she want to give the Government officer the 'tip'?"

"No telling about these women, sir, no telling about them; you
see this man is a good-looking chap, a very handsome fellow,
and he's a daring man, too, and a splendid sailor! It's a pity
he wasn't one of the crew. I tell you he saved the lives of
all the lads one night off the coast; but he's doomed! He'll
never save nobody again!"

"Has he been making love to the girl?"

"No; I reckon he's never seen her, but she's seen him; you see
Renie goes under cover sometimes, and she wanders along the
shore for hours, and one night she came upon the detective
when he was holding a parley with a pal from the city; the gal
'laid low' and overheard all that was said, and at the same
time she 'nipped' a letter which the man dropped from his
jacket, and thus got down on the whole business; but somehow
her heart went ag'in giving the man away, and she writes a
letter ready to deliver to him; and by ginger, she mislaid her
letter, and my nephew, a rattling little chap, 'nipped' it and
gave it to the Cap, and the whole business was out!"

"You are sure there has been no acquaintance between the
detective and your daughter?"

"Yes; I am sure of that."

"Why are you sure?"

"Well, I've Renie's word, and that gal would die before she
would tell a lie; no, sir, she's never spoke to him, and as
she never has, she never will, for his accounts will all be
cleared to-night! the lads will have a dead open and shut on
him."

"I reckon you've been deceived," said Garcia.

"How so?"

"That gal has known more of this man than you think. She
would not warn a stranger that his life, was in peril,
especially when that stranger was her father's foe."

"Well, it don't make any difference. She will never see him
again!"

"We can't tell about that."

"What do you mean?"

"I'll bet a thousand dollars the man didn't go off on the
cruise to-night!"

"Yes, he did."

"Did you see him aboard?"

"No: but I know he went."

"That girl would know that the letter was lost."

"Yes, very likely."

"Well, she'd take some other measures to warn the man; you've
been deceived, old man!"

"I hope you're mistaken, or it will be bad for Renie. I tell
you the men will be raging mad if the detective slips through
their nets to-night."

"They will be, and now you recognize the necessity of turning
the girl over to me."

"I've been thinking over that matter."

"You remember what I promised you?"

"Yes, yes; but suppose he should come?"

"Who should come?"

The old smuggler had spoken the words in a thoughtful manner,
and the question was really addressed to himself. The old
smuggler recognised that he had made a startling admission and
remained silent.

Garcia said:

"I suppose you mean the day might come when someone will
appear to claim the girl, and you will lose a large sum of
money?"

"No; no; you do not know what I mean, you have never heard the
girl's strange history."

"I know she is not your child."

"Yes; you forced that confession from me a long time ago."

"Tell me the girl's history."

"I dare not."

"Does she know the tale?"

"No."

"She believes herself your child?"

"I think she has a suspicion that she is not my child, but she
loves me."

"Has she ever asked you whether or not she is your child?"

"Never!"

"Nor hinted?"

"No."

"Then why do you say she suspects that she is not your child?"

"Well, from many little things I have been led to suspect
that. She herself has a suspicion of the real truth."

"You must then tell me her history."

"I dare not."

"Listen old man, I am her friend and your friend; this is no
place for Renie; when she was a mere child it was all right,
but now it is not safe. You must give her to me! and listen;
should anyone ever come to claim her, she shall be
surrendered, and you will receive any reward that may be
paid!"

"I do not think anyone will ever come for her, but could I
solve one mystery I know where to look."

"For what?"

"Her friends."

CHAPTER VI.

Garcia was evidently, as the listening detective discerned, a
very shrewd, quick-witted man.

He fixed his keen dark eyes on the old smuggler, and said:

"There is something you are keeping back from me; come now, I
will pay you one hundred dollars to tell me Renie's history."

"You will give a hundred dollars?" Pearce exclaimed, in an
eager tone.

"Yes, I will."

"You will pay the money right down?"

"Yes."

"I will show the letter."

The old man went down in his pocket, and drew forth the
time-stained letter he had been reading when the detective
first looked in upon him, and drawing closer to the light,
said:

"I won't show you the whole letter, but I will read just one
portion to you," and he read as follows:

"DEAR Tom,--There has been one thing on my mind for a long
time. I am getting old, and at any time might die, and I have
a secret which I feet I should share with you in order to
guard against accidents. Upon that terrible night when Renie
was placed in my care, there was also consigned to my keeping
a box--a sealed box--which I was never to open until Renie
should reach the age of twenty-one, or be called for by
parties claiming her as their child. I was given to
understand that the box contained proofs of the dear child's
birth and parentage, and it was hinted that some day she would
inherit an immense fortune. I never told you about the box,
but when I return I will confide to you the place where it is
concealed, so that you will be prepared to carry out the trust
in case anything should happen to me before Renie becomes of
age, or is claimed by those who placed her in my charge."

The remainder of the letter had no bearing upon the case of
Renie, but was devoted to general matters.

After Tom Pearce had concluded the reading there followed a
momentary silence. The man Garcia appeared to be lost in deep
thought. The old smuggler also appeared to be lost in deep
meditation.

After an interval Garcia said:

"From that letter it would appear that the proofs of the
girl's identity were in your wife's possession?"

"Yes."

"Did she keep her promise to you?"

"You mean did she inform me' where the box was hidden?"

"Yes."

"She did not."

"And she died without making the revelation?"

"Yes, she died very suddenly."

"Did you ever search over her papers?"

"I did."

"And never came across the slightest clew?"

"Never!"

"Why was it she did not make a confidant of you?"

"Well, I was a pretty wild sort of man in those days, and it's
my idea that many precious jewels are hidden in that box."

The eyes of the man Garcia glistened as he asked:

"What makes you think so?"

"Well, my old woman let fall many strange hints now and then,
and always said that Renie would be rich some day--immensely
rich."

"She meant when claimed by her friends?"

"Yes; but she once said that Renie would be rich whether her
friends claimed her or not; and what is more, money was always
ready when anything was needed for the girl."

"But the girl has been allowed to run loose."

"Not altogether; no, sir, not altogether; Renie has received
an expensive education, and my wife always found the money to
pay the bills; the girl thinks she was educated out of my hard
earnings, but never a dollar or my money went for her support
until after the old woman died!"

"Have you ever searched for the box?"

"I have."

"Do you suppose your wife ever opened it?"

"That I cannot tell, but once when she and I were in the City
of New York, we read about a great singer who had some
magnificent jewels, and my wife said to me: 'I'll wager I
could-show jewels handsomer and richer than that critter's
got, and they claim hers are valued at a hundred thousand
dollars.'"

The detective heard all these strange revelations, and he made
up his mind that there was a big job falling into his hands.

"You say you have searched for the box?"

"Yes."

"And never found it or gained any clew as to its whereabouts?"

"Never."

"Has Renie any knowledge of the box?"

"I don't know whether my wife ever made a confidant of the
child."

"Has the girl ever spoken of it?"

"Never."

"And you have never mentioned it to her?"

"Never."

"Who was with your wife when she died?"

"Renie."

"She may have made a final revelation to the girl!"

"I think not."

"How long has your wife been dead?"

"Three years."

"Tom Pearce, all you tell me makes me anxious to take
charge of the girl; but tell me all the circumstances under
which she came to be placed in your charge."

After a moment's thought the old man said:

"I will.

"One calm winter's day, the boating men hereabouts were
surprised to see a handsome and trim-built yacht come sailing
through the channel; and running up the bay to a good
anchorage, she let go her iron and lay like a great swan on
the water.

"A short time afterward, a foreign-looking man was landed on
the beach, and he strolled around among the fishermen's buts
and only spoke when addressed by some of the fishermen; but I
tell you his great black eyes were busy glancing around. No
one knew at the time what he was looking for, but it was
evident he was searching for something, and my wife and I
later on were the only ones who fell into the mystery."

"The man was studying the faces of the people hereabouts?"
suggested Garcia.

"That was just what he was doing, and later on he made
inquiries here and there, and as events proved, my wife was
the woman who struck his fancy."

"And did he bring her the child?"

"Hold on! let me tell the story just as the events happened.
I told you it was in the winter when the yacht hove to in the
bay; well, one bitter and blustering night about three days
after the arrival of the yacht, I was over on the mainland
having a carouse, and toward morning took the chances of
crossing the bay in a catboat to my home. How I ever reached
here in safety I'll never tell, but I ran on to the beach all
right, and footed to my shanty! Well, sir, as I neared the
house pretty well sobered, the first thing I heard was the
wail of an infant; and I tell you I was surprised, and
entering the house I saw my wife with a lovely child in her
arms, which she was feeding with a spoon.

"'Hello, Betsy,' I yelled, 'where did you get that little
squealer from?'

"Well, sir, my wife raised her finger to her lips, and warned
me to be silent, and in a low tone told me that on the
following day she would tell me all about it. Well, you see
I was pretty well fagged out, and I always had an idea that
what my wife said and done was right. So I tumbled into bed
without making any further inquiries.

"Well, the next morning my good wife told me as how amidst the
storm when it was at its greatest fury, the strange man who
had come ashore from the yacht, entered our cabin having a
bundle wrapped in his arms, and she told me how surprised she
was when he opened his bundle and discovered a beautiful
little child about a year old."

"Renie was only a year old when placed in your charge."

"That's all, sir."

"Well, proceed."

"There ain't much more to tell; my wife told me that the man,
had left the child in her charge, and that we were to be well
paid for its keep; and as long as Betsy thought it as all
right, I made no objections."

"Did the man ever come again?"

"No, sir; the day following the bringing of the child ashore
the yacht sailed away and never since has her prow plowed the
waters of the bay. Nor has anyone belonging to her ever been
seen in these parts."

"And how long ago did this occur?"

"Nigh onto seventeen years ago, sir."

"And Renie is about eighteen years old?"

"Thereabouts, sir."

"It is not likely that she will ever be claimed."

"Hardly, sir."

"It is not likely that the box will ever be found."

"Hardly, sir."

There was one man, however, who dissented from the latter
opinion; the detective in his own mind resolved that he would
find that box, if it took him years to trace it; meantime the
man Garcia opened his scheme.

"Tom, you must let me have the girl."

"I am willing; but the girl herself objects."

"She does?"

"Yes."

"You have spoken to her?"

"Yes; I told her a rich gentleman in New York, wished to adopt
her, a man who would bring her up as his own child; but she
answered that she did not wish to go to New York; did not
desire to be adopted, and would not leave me."

"She must be compelled to go with me!"

"I wouldn't like to do that."

"Listen, Tom, let me have the girl, and I will pay, you two
thousand dollars down in gold!"

"But she will not go with you."

"We can manage that."

"How do you mean to manage it?"

"We'll play a trick on her, and I tell you when once I get her
in my house, she will find things so pleasant and delightful
she will never wish to return to this place again!"

"I can't play no tricks on the gal! no, no, she's got perfect
confidence in me, and I would not betray her confidence, not
even for two thousand dollars in gold! And I'm a poor man,
sir, very poor, and I'm old and getting feeble!"

"I'll tell you what we can do, Tom; you can bring her to New
York to visit me."

"Yes."

"And then we may be able to persuade her to remain."

"I'll think it over; but see here, why is it you are so
anxious to get possession of the girl?"

"I do not wish to see one so lovely and beautiful living in
such a miserable condition."

"See here, Garcia, do you mean that girl harm?"

"Why, old man, what could prompt you to ask that question?"

"Well, I'll tell you, you're so anxious; 'tis just come over
my mind that you don't mean just what's right. Now, see here;
it wouldn't do for you to mean any harm to Renie. I'd follow,
any man who would harm her to the very death!"

As the old smuggler spoke he drew his knife front his belt and
laid it on the table in a suggestive manner.

"You can trust the girl with me; but where is she, to-night?"

"Can't tell, sir; nights like these she likes to roam the
beach; she's a strange girl, sir, but I'd never have any harm
come to her!"

"Will you consent to bring her to New York on a Visit?"

"I'll think the matter over, and--"

The further remarks of the old smuggler were cut short by a
shrill scream of agony which broke the stillness of the night.

CHAPTER VII.

The two men stopped and listened a moment, when Tom Pearce
started to go toward the door, exclaiming:

"Something has scared Renie!"

"Hold on! Nothing is the matter with the girl," said Garcia.

"How do you know?" retorted the old smuggler; and he made
another step toward the door, when the man Garcia suddenly
dealt him a blow with a club.

The blow was a powerful one, and it brought the old man to the
floor, which laid him insensible upon the broad of his back.

Meantime, the detective had overheard the scream; and had slid
away from his hiding-place, and started to run toward the
point from whence the cry had come.

Spencer Vance was convinced that the scream had been uttered
by Renie, and, remembering Sol Burton's attack upon the girl,
he suspected the man had renewed his attempt.

The detective ran for some distance, and saw no one; and his
anxiety became intense lest some real harm had befallen the
helpless girl. He could not understand what had become of
her. When he first heard the cry, it did not appear as though
the screamer could be more than a few hundred feet distant
from where he lay ensconced; but he had covered thousands of
square feet, and could see nothing of the girl, or, indeed,
was there a living soul visible.

The detective was straining his eyes in glances in every
direction when he caught sight of the figure of a man moving
stealthily across the sand.

The detective started to follow the man, and speedily
discerned that the stealthy prowler was the man Garcia.

The latter had not seen the detective, and our hero kept upon
his track, following him to the shore. On the beach were
gathered a group of men, and in their midst Vance beheld the
girl Renie.

At a glance the detective took in the situation, Garcia,
despairing of success with the old smuggler, had determined to
kidnap the girl.

There were three men besides the man Garcia, and four to one
was pretty good odds; besides, the detective knew the men to
be desperate and well prepared to fight. What should he do?
He could not stand by and see the fair, helpless girl carried
oft; and yet he was alone, and had no one to call upon for
assistance.

Lying off the shore was a sloop-yacht, and on the beach was a
boat; the intention of the men was apparent. It was their
purpose to carry the girl off to the yacht.

Spencer Vance was an experienced officer, well posted in all
the tricks and devices of his craft, and he at once began to
carry out a scheme.

He took up a position behind a sand-rift, and commenced to
shriek and scream like a woman; and a moment later he became
aware that his ruse was successful; two men came running
toward the place where he lay concealed and as they approached
the detective leaped to his feet. He had the men at a
disadvantage; they were not expecting an attack, and were
unprepared.

The detective, however, was ready to receive them as they ran
down the incline, and quick as lightning sprung upon the two
men. The men were both stunned, and were down before they had
a chance to make an outcry.

Having disposed of the two men, the detective advanced toward
the point on the beach where the two remaining men stood. He
walled straight up to the kidnappers, who stood and gazed at
him in amazement.

"Heh, Renie!" he called, "are you going willingly with these
men?"

The men answered for the girl:

"Yes; she is going with us. Who are you, and what have you
got to say about it?"

"When I speak, it will be from these; you fellows get in your
boat or I fire!"

"Who are you?" came the question.

"Get in your boat, and leave, or down you go! The other two
chaps are settled."

"But give us an explanation."

One of the men made a movement to draw his weapon, but the
detective called:

"Hold on there, my friend! And now, you fellows, get in your
boat, or at the call of three it will be too late!"

"One!" called the detective, and he made one step nearer the
men.

"Two!" he called a second later, and he advanced another step.

The men did not wait for the third call, but leaped into their
boat.

The detective advanced to the spot where Renie stood, and in a
low voice, he said:

"Am I right?"

The girl made no reply.

A suspicion of the truth flashed through the detective's mind,
and he said:

"Renie, run to your father's cabin, the road is clear!"

The girl, who had stood speechless during the whole time that
the exciting incidents we have described were transpiring,
suddenly bounded away, but without speaking one word.

The detective called to the two men in the boat:

"Don't you fellows land again, or it will cost you your
lives!"

The men made no reply, and the detective moved away in the
same direction that had been pursued by Renie. He had gone
less than a hundred feet, when he met the girl coming toward
him.

The detective was both amused and pleased. He realized that
in case of an emergency the girl would be of great help.

"Never mind, my child, I've settled 'em!" he said:

Still the girl made no reply, and it was then the detective
discovered that she had been gagged. He also discovered that
her arms had been secured, so she could not raise them to her
head.

It took him but a moment to release her with his knife, when
she exclaimed:

"I thank you for coming to my aid; but where are the villains?"

"I reckon they've gone off to their boat; but come, we will
see. With such a noble and brave ally I would not hesitate to
invite a scrimmage with half a dozen of them."

The detective's guess proved correct. The two men whom he had
first dropped had evidently recovered their senses, and had
joined their pals on the beach, as a boat bearing four persons
could be seen moving off toward the yacht.

As our readers can well imagine, it was not because of the
detective's warning that the men pulled away to their boat.
Garcia remembered that he had stricken down the old smuggler,
and it was the consequences of that act which made him anxious
to get away.

"There they go, Renie!"

"Yes; thanks to you, I am not going with them;" answered the
girl.

"Why was the assault made upon you, my child?"

"You are my friend; I will tell you all now. That man Garcia
is a villain! He has made all manner of propositions to me to
induce me to leave the coast and go to the city with him, but
I knew the man to be a villain, a murderer, and criminal of
the worst sort, and I refused all his offers."

"On what pretense did he make offers to you, my child?"

"Oh, he told me I was fitted to adorn a mansion, that this
life with these rough fishermen was no life for me, and that
he would take me to live as his child in luxury and splendor."

"In one respect, Renie, the man told you truly. You are not
fitted to dwell among these rough men around here."

"I know that well enough, but I will not leave my father, and
when I do I shall not place myself under the protection of a
man like Garcia."

"Who is this man Garcia?"

"He is a Cuban, or rather his father was a Cuban, and his
mother, as I've heard him say, was an Irish lady. I think he
is one of the capitalists engaged in the smuggling trade; and
that he is a villain and scoundrel I know!"

"He had a long interview with Tom Pearce to-night."

"Yes; I requested you to be a listener to their talk. What
did you overhear?"

"Tom Pearce is an honest and good man, as far as you are
concerned; the fellow Garcia was seeking with the offer of
bribes to induce the old man to take you to New York and
surrender you to his keeping. He used the same arguments with
your father that he used with you."

"And what did my father say to his propositions?"

"He gave no decided answer; but one thing is certain, the old
man would never surrender you to that fellow if he had the
least suspicion that any harm would come to you."

"What has occurred this night will convince him, I reckon."

"Yes, I should say so," responded the detective.

"I would not have gone to that man's house even had my father
consented. I have a mind and will of my own; and now that I
am on my guard I will take care of myself against any such
attacks in future."

"I don't know, Renie; I do not think you will be safe here."

"The men around here will protect me."

At that moment a diminutive shadow was cast on the sand in
front of Renie and the detective, and a moment later a little
fellow, a mere child seemingly in years, appeared before them.

"Hello, Tommy, where did you come from?" demanded Renie.

"I want to speak to you, Renie."

"Well, speak out, Tommy."

"I won't speak before anyone. I've awful news to tell you."

"Go and hear what the lad has to say to you," suggested Vance.

Renie stepped aside with the lad, when the latter whispered in
a low tone:

"Sol Burton has made trouble."

"What has he done?"

"He told the men that you gave that man warning, and they're
awful mad at you, and they've put up a job to get the man into
a quarrel."

"Where are the men now?"

"Down to Rigby's."

"They expect the detective down there to-night?"

"Yes."

"And Sol Burton was the man who told them I gave the detective
warning?"

"Yes."

"You go down to Rigby's and listen to what goes on, and in
about an hour come up and report to me."

"Where will you be?"

"At the cabin."

Tom Pearce's house was generally called the cabin, as the
timbers and other materials of which it was constructed were
portions of a wreck that had come ashore many years
previously.

Tommy bid the girl good-night, and the latter returned to the
detective.

"Well, is the communication confidential?"

"You are in great peril."

"Am I?"

"You are."

"From which quarter does the danger threaten me?"

"Sol Burton has reported against me."

"What has he reported?"

"He has told the men that I warned you, and that is the reason
you did not go off in the yacht."

"The men will not harm you, I reckon."

"No, they will not harm me."

"Then I reckon no harm is done."

"The men have sworn to get square with you to-night!"

CHAPTER VIII.

The detective laughed in a quiet way, and said:

"My dear child, I have been in hotter danger than any that
threatens me at this moment. I know now in which quarter the
danger lies, and I would be a poor man were I to be frightened
off when holding that 'lead.'"

"But those men are set to catch you to-night. They have sworn
to assault you, and there are twenty of them, all told; you
may treat the danger lightly, but I tell you they are a
desperate lot. They will make good their threat unless you
go. It will be impossible for you to stand against them all."

"Never you fear for me, Renie; I'll go off in the yacht to-night.
She catches a 'liner,' and don't you forget."

"You will go off in the yacht with those men?" exclaimed the
girl.

"Yes, I will."

"Never! they will go for you at sight! They know now that you
have been warned."

"I will look out for myself; it is not my peril we must
consider, but yours."

"I am safe. I shall tell all to my father, and after that it
will be a dangerous thing for Garcia to show his face around
our cabin."

"The man has money, he will operate by trick and device. He
will bribe someone whom you consider your best friend to aid
him, and already you have an enemy."

"Sol Burton?"

"Yes."

"I do not fear him. I'll scare that man over to the mainland,
to remain there, before to-morrow's sunset. No, no! I am not
in danger, but you are."

"You need have no fear for me."

"You will not go to Rigby's to-night?"

"I may go down there."

"And invite your doom?"

The detective smiled as he answered:

"I can depend upon you?"

"How depend upon me?"

"You will not give any information against me!"

"I certainly will not."

"You must not know anything about me when you are questioned,
but you can suggest that, possibly, I have become seared, and
slid away."

"Why do you not go?"

"Go! why, my child, I'm getting right down to the business
that brought me here; in a few days I'll have matters dead to
rights; and, while I think of it, let me warn you, do not let
Tom Pearce go off any more."

"He does not go off nowadays. He has not been off in the
yacht for a year. He is getting too old."

"Give him a warning."

"How warn him?"

"Tell him to lay low, that the officers have got all the
points down good, and are about to close in; tell him he'll be
safe if he lies quiet close from this time out."

"I will warn him; but, alas! it's you who should take warning.
You know not your peril?"

"We will drop that matter for the present. I have only one
more word to say: You must know nothing about me, under any
circumstances whatever; you must never seek to communicate
with me, unless I first address you."

"I do not understand."

"It is not necessary for you to understand; you are a girl of
ready wit; a general command to you is sufficient. I have
good reasons for my request. I am amply able to take care of
myself under all circumstances; my fear, as I told you, is for
you. And now, to change the subject, have you any intimate
friend, save your father?"

"Not one."

"Can I claim to be a friend of yours?"

The girl answered promptly:

"You have already proven yourself a friend."

"You remember the words addressed to you by Sol Burton?"

"Yes."

"That fellow, I am satisfied, has no information for you."

"I have so decided in my own mind."

"Will you confide in me as a friend?"

"I will!" came the ready reply.

"I have reason to know that there is a mystery connected with
your committal, years ago, to the care of Mrs. Pearce."

"I know that myself."

"I can solve that mystery if you permit me to do so."

"I believe you can aid me; but if you go to Rigby's to-night
you can never do service for me; these men will make good
their threat!"

"We will not talk about me now; we will talk about you, and I
wish to ask you one question: Were you with Mrs. Pearce when
she died."

"I was."

"Did she succeed in making any communication."

"She did not."

"Not even one word?"

"She only succeeded in saying, 'Renie, I have something
important to tell you;' then her tongue became paralyzed, and
she never spoke again."

"Upon no former occasion did she ever give you hint?"

"Never."

"She never told you of the circumstances under which you were
confided to her care?"

"Never."

"And she never spoke of a mysterious box or any relics that
might some day serve as identification tokens."

"Never. She always gave me to understand that she was my real
mother."

"Well, now, Renie, I wish to ask you some very, important
questions, and I desire that you will think and consider well
before you make a reply."

"I have a good memory; but, first, tell me what was the
purport of the conversation between my father and the man
Garcia?"

"We will not speak of that now."

"There were revelations made."

"Yes."

"And you will repeat them to me?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"Some day."

"Why not now?"

"I will answer you frankly. I have determined, as I told you,
to solve the mystery connected with your consignment to the
care of Mrs. Pearce, and I do not wish to tell you anything
that will start any suggestions in your mind, until I have
collected and considered all the little memories you may have
retained of the habits of your supposed mother."

"Her habits were ordinary and commonplace enough. She was
merely a good, hard-working fisherman's wife."

"But did she not act like a woman who possessed: a secret?"

The girl was thoughtful for some moments.

"I do remember a strange incident that once occurred when I
was quite a girl."

"Ah! now we are getting down to it. Relate the incident."

"My reputed mother is buried in the graveyard on the mainland,
beside the grave of her son."

"Yes."

"Well, once she visited his grave with me, and as she stood
weeping, she said, after focusing her eyes on me in a strange
manner:

"'Renie, some day from that grave may come forth a strange
secret; the day may come when I will tell you about it.'"

CHAPTER IX.

The detective was keenly interested at once.

"Were you old enough to consider her remark seriously?"

"Yes; I formed an idea as to her meaning."

"What was your idea?"

"She alluded to the resurrection of the dead. She was what
they called a Millerite."

"Yes; I have heard of those people--a strange sect, who
believed the world was coming to an end about every three
months. So you thought she alluded to the resurrection?"

"Yes."

"Did she visit her son's grave often?"

"No."

"Did you ever notice that her mind took any particular line of
thought after these visits?"

"No."

The detective was thoughtful a moment, but his meditations
were rudely disturbed by the reappearance of the boy Tommy.
The little fellow had been running hard, and was almost
breathless as he called to Renie: "Come quick! I've something
to tell you."

The girl stepped aside with the lad, when the latter laid:

"They're coming for him."

"For whom?"

"That man."

The lad, pointed toward the detective.

"Who is coming?"

"The crew of the 'Nancy.' They're all wild drunk, and they're
sure to try to hurt him."

"How do they know he is here?"

"Someone ran in the tavern and told 'em."

"Who was it?"

"I don't know. I was down there 'laying around' on the watch,
when a man ran in and whispered something to the big mate, and
then the men all took a 'stiff tin' and with oaths and curses
started to go to your daddy's cabin. I ran ahead of them to
warn you."

"They will not harm me."

"No, but they are after him sure!" again the lad pointed
toward the detective.

"All right, Tommy, you go and watch them, we'll look out."

Renie returned to where the detective stood, and said:

"Come with me, we've not a moment to spare."

"What's the matter now?"

"The gang have learned that you are still on the coast; they
are all mad drunk, and they're coming for you!"

"Which way are the men coming?"

"They are going to my father's cabin, and if they do not find
you there they will commence a search for you; they're all mad
with liquor, and should they find you, no power on earth can
save you!"

"Nonsense! they cannot harm me. I only fear for you; and now
listen, I've other work around here beyond the duty of
breaking up the gang of smugglers. I'm going to solve the
mystery of your life, fathom the secret of Betsy Pearce, and
mark my, words, I'll succeed!"

"Oh, do not remain here to-night! listen, they are almost upon
us! fly with me! I can place you in a hiding-place!"

"If I lose my life to-night, it will be your fault, Renie."

"My fault?"

"Yes."

"How so?"

"Because you will not do as I say."

"What shall I do?"

"Go to your father's cabin, and deny any knowledge of me."

"You demand that I shall leave you?"

"Yes."

"I go at your command!"

The girl glided away.

Meantime the detective heard loud voices and signs of intense
excitement over at the boatman's cabin, which was not more
than six hundred feet distant from where the detective and
Renie stood, while the conversation which we have repeated was
in progress.

Strange feelings were raging in the detective's bosom at that
moment. He had known the beautiful barefooted girl but a few
hours, and he had come to feel more interest in her than he
had ever cherished for any other human being since the day he
had laid his widowed mother to rest in the church-yard.

When he had first glanced at the girl under the exciting
circumstances of that truly eventful night, he had considered
her a rustic beauty, handsome, but ignorant; but alas! a
better knowledge of her taught him that she was a refined and
educated girl, despite the fact of the bare feet, her unkempt
hair, and long residence among the fishermen and smugglers of
the coast.

She was a true child of romance, a wonderful prodigy of a
strange and weird fate, and he could not but picture to
himself what a ravishingly lovely creature she would be under
different auspices; and he wondered not that the Cuban
villain, Garcia, was anxious to secure possession of her.

The detective quickly thought over the whole matter. He
discerned the Cuban's purpose; the man meant to take the girl
to Cuba, perchance, to make her his wife, and why not? She
was beautiful, and there was a possibility that she might
develop into a great heiress.

The detective, however, did not have much time to meditate on
his strange meeting with the girl and the stranger incidents
that followed that meeting. He was warned that it was
necessary for him to take measures for the safety of his life.

Spencer Vane was a thoroughly experienced detective. He was
no tyro at the business, and he was up to all the tricks and
devices of the modern science of criminal detection. He was
as good at the art of disguise as any in the profession, and
it was his skill in the latter particular which make him so
indifferent as to the approach of the gang of madly drunken
smugglers.

Our hero walked over behind a high sand drift, and in a few
minutes had worked a most startling and extraordinary
"transform;" no living man, unless posted as to his disguise,
could ever have recognised in the dark-faced, rough-looking
man who issued from behind the drift, the same light-haired,
dashing-looking fellow who had a moment before disappeared
behind it.

CHAPTER X.

The detective had just completed his change in appearance,
when he was startled by hearing a shrill piercing scream in a
female voice from the direction of Tom Pearce's cabin.

"As I feared!" he muttered, and he walked rapidly toward the
cabin, and approaching, he saw an excited group of men
standing outside, while something of a more ordinary character
appeared to be transpiring beneath the humble roof.

The detective approached the group of men standing outside and
inquired:

"Hello, what's going on here?"

The men crowded around the new-comer, and glared in his face,
and one of the men called out,

"Ahoy there, bring a glim here, quick! Here's stranger, and
by all that's fatal, I believe Tom's enemy!"

The detective was perfectly cool as he answered;

"Will you tell me what's going on here."

"Who are you, anyhow?" came the query in a rough tone.

Meantime one of the men had brought out a ship's lantern, and
it was held up in front of the detective's face, and the men
glared at him.

"Do any of you know this fellow?" came the question.

One man after another declared his utter ignorance of the
identity of the stranger.

"Who are you, my man?" again came the question;

"My name is Ballard, but I reckon no one around here knows
me."

"I reckon you're right, you villain! and now what brings you
here?"

"I came here to see a woman named Betsy Pearce."

"You came here to see a woman named Betsy Pearce?"

"Yes."

"What brought you here to see Betsy Pearce?"

"That's my business."

"You've been here before, to-night, old man!"

"Who says so?"

"We all do."

"Then you are all mistaken!"

"We are, eh? Well, my friend, it stands you in hand to give
an account of yourself, and explain your presence here, or
to-morrow's sun will never rise before your eyes!"

"Will you men explain why I am assailed this way?"

"My friend, Tom Pearce, has been found in his cabin
unconscious!"

The detective gave a start, and a shudder passed over his
stalwart frame. The start and shudder were the result of far
different causes than the men around him supposed, but they
noticed his momentary agitation, and one of them exclaimed:

"We've got the right man! And now, boys, get a rope; there'll
be no foolin' in this case!"

Meantime one of the men entered the cabin and whispered to
Renie, who was weeping over the body of her murdered father.

"They've caught the rascal, miss, and they're going to hang
him!"

The girl uttered a scream, a wild piercing wail of anguish and
terror! At that terrible moment it flashed across her mind
that the men had caught Spencer Vance, and had concluded that
the detective was the assailant of her father.

The girl rushed from the cabin screaming:

"Hold! Hold! do not harm that man! He is innocent! Hold!
Hold, I say!"

The girl advanced to the center of the group of men that
surrounded the detective, still exclaiming:

"Do not harm that man! he is innocent! He is innocent!"

She approached close to the prisoner; one of the men held the
the lantern so its gleam shone full in the detective's face,
and he inquired:

"Do you know him, Renie?"

The girl fixed her eyes on the prisoner and recoiling,
exclaimed:

"No, no, I do not know him! I thought it was another man! He
must be the one!"

As the excited girl spoke she pointed toward the detective.

The latter still stood, the coolest party amidst all there
assembled.

Renie had taken but a cursory glance at the prisoner. One
glance had been sufficient to prove to her that it was not the
detective, and observing the man's swarthy complexion she
connected him with the Cuban Garcia, and it was the latter
fact which in the excitement of the moment caused her to
exclaim,

"He must be the one!"

As stated, the detective was perfectly cool, but he realized
his position in all its terribleness, and more fully, when one
of the men said:

"Now, then, stranger, give an account of yourself."

"I tell you I came here to see Betsy Pearce."

"You were not at this cabin before to-night."

"I was not."

"Where do you hail from?"

"That's my business."

"That means you won't tell."

"Yes."

"You may be sorry anon, good man; and now answer! What was
your business with Betsy Pearce?"

"I will not answer."

"You had no business with Tom Pearce?"

"I did not."

"Stranger, your story don't work. Betsy Pearce has been dead
and in her grave these two years."

"I know that!"

"Ah, you knew it?"

"Yes, I learned so since my arrival on the coast."

Renie had returned to the interior of the cabin, and one of
the men said:

"Is the rope ready?"

"Yes," came the answer.

"Do you hear that, stranger?"

"I do."

"Rig a swing cross, boys. We'll fix this fellow, and teach
all comers that this is the wrong coast for such scoundrels!"

The detective fully realized the men were in earnest, and
that, unless some fortunate accident intervened. It would
indeed be an "up you go" with him.

It would be hard to conceive a more embarrassing and critical
position. The detective could not appeal to Renie openly as
the appeal would reveal his real identity; and no opportunity
appeared for a quiet revelation of himself to the girl.

He was led to the place of execution; the rope was thrown over
his head, when Renie came forth from the cabin. She ran
forward to where the victim stood.

"Hold! Hold!" she said, "what are you about to do?"

"Hang your father's assailant!"

"Does the man confess his guilt?"

"No."

"Let me speak to him."

The girl pressed forward close to the doomed man, and
addressing him, said:

"Are you innocent or guilty?"

"It makes no difference now; but tell me are you Renie
Pearce?"

"I am Renie Pearce."

"I have an important communication to make to you before I
die."

"To me?"

"Yes."

"Well, speak!"

"What I communicate must be spoken in your ear alone, as it
concerns you only."

"Go and see what he has to say," commanded the leader of the
lynching party.

The girl stepped close to the man and the lyncher stepped
back.

In a low tone the detective said:

"Be calm and do not betray that you know me!"

The girl felt her heart stand still, and a cry rose to her
lips.

"Hold," whispered the officer, "or you will destroy all
chances for escape."

The girl's face assumed the hue of death, a thrilling
suspicion flashed through her mind.

"You can save me, Renie, but if you betray my real identity I
am doomed!"

"Are you Spencer Vance?"

"Yes."

"Heavens! what does this mean?"

"It is no time for explanations now; tell me, is your father
dead?"

"He shows signs of life."

"Then you can save my life."

"You shall not die!"

"Listen, tell the men I have made certain revelations to you;
tell them your father is reviving; bid them wait and let the
old man identify me as the assailant, or proclaim my innocence."

"I see! I see!" said the girl.

"Remember, under no circumstances, even though I die, must my
identity be betrayed!"

"You can trust me."

The girl stepped toward the men, and addressing them, said:

"You must not hang that man!"

"Is the man your friend?" came the question in a jeering tone.

"The man is a stranger; but I am satisfied he did not strike
down my father. He has told me important things; my father
revives, let my father see this man!"

At the moment there came a fortunate diversion in favor of the
policy of delay; a voice called in from the house,

"Come here, Renie, your father is reviving. He has called for
you!"

"Bring the man to my father," said the girl.

"Yes," came the answer from several.

"Throw the rope off from around his neck."

A young man stepped forward and did as commanded.

The sentiment was turning in favor of the seemingly doomed
man.

CHAPTER XI.

It was an exciting moment when the detective was led into the
cabin; as many as could get in, crowded into the low-ceiled
room.

The old man had rapidly revived, his only attendant being an
old man-of-war's-man, who had had a large experience with
wounded men.

The detective meantime was quite confident; conscious of his
innocence he welcomed the inspection.

The wounded man opened his eyes and gazed around the room.

"Where am I?" he demanded.

Renie stepped to his side and said:

"You are in your own cabin, father."

The old man gazed around wildly at the pale faces gathered
around his bed; the detective was led forward and the old
smuggler's glance fell upon the stark face. Suddenly the
wounded man uttered a thrilling cry, rose up in the bed to a
sitting position, end pointing his finger at the detective,
demanded in a hoarse voice,

"Why is he here? take him away!"

The group gathered around the bed were paralyzed to silence,
but after a moment the silence was broken by the voice of the
leader of the gang of lynchers who asked:

"Who is he, Tom?"

In clear distinct tones the answer came:

"The villain who struck me down!"

Renie uttered a scream, and oaths fell from the lips of the
men.

"Out with him! out with him!" came the cry, and oaths and
curses and shouts of vengeance filled the air.

The men started to turn the detective toward the door,
determined to hang him without further hindrance or delay.

The wounded man as he uttered the fatal words had fallen back,
seemingly into a dead faint.

It was a terrible moment; the maddened men had reached the
door with their prisoner when Renie called out in a frantic
voice:

"Hold! do not take him away, my father has a word to say to
him."

The girl's quick wit and readiness of expedient were
wonderful.

At first, when the fatal words fell from her father's lips,
her blood ran cold with horror; but quickly came the
recollection that the detective had changed his appearance,
and that she herself had failed to recognize him. Garcia was
a dark-complexioned man, and the thought came to her that here
was a possibility that, in a moment of excitement and
bewilderment, the injured old smuggler had mistaken the
detective for Garcia.

Her device to stay the maddened men was a rare example of
quickness of thought at a critical moment; indeed, it was the
only appeal that would have caused the men to delay their fell
purpose.

Tom Pearce was still unconscious, and Renie threw herself upon
the old man, pretending to caress him, so as to hide the fact
of his unconsciousness and to gain time until he should
revive.

At length, the old smuggler did revive, and Renie whispered
the inquiry in his ear:

"Father, who was it struck you down?"

"Garcia!" came the response in a husky voice.

Gladness gleamed in the girl's eyes.

The men brought the detective to the bedside.

"Wait, wait a moment!" commanded Renie.

"What does the old man wish to say to the villain?"

"Wait, wait until he more fully revives."

Some of the men who were outside, not understanding the cause
of the delay, called out:

"Bring the man out!"

Meantime, the old man more fully revived, when Renie whispered
to him:

"Father, do you know me?"

"Yes; it is Renie, my child."

"Do you remember pointing out the man who assailed you?"

"Yes; it was that villain Garcia."

"The man whom you denounced was not Garcia."

"Was it not Garcia whom they brought before me."

"No."

"Who was it?"

"A stranger."

"I made a mistake!"

"Yes; you made a mistake. Will you not look again at the
man?"

"Certainly I will."

"Will you rise up in bed?"

"Yes."

Renie assisted the old man to rise, and beckoned the men to
lead the detective forward.

"Now, father," she said, "look upon this man."

The old smuggler looked the detective all over, and a change
came over his face as he said:

"Is that the man I denounced?"

"Yes."

"My friends, that is not the man who assailed me!"

The gang of lynchers stood gazing in amazement, and there was
a suspicious look upon the faces of many of them as their
leader remarked:

"The girl has cajoled him."

The men suspected that the girl had induced her Father to
recall his words.

"Would you know the man who assailed you, Tom?"

"Yes."

"Then why did you accuse this man?"

"I had not fully recovered my senses when I denounced him."

"Do you know the right man?"

"Yes," came the answer.

"Are you sure you have your senses now?"

"Yes."

"This man is really innocent?"

"He is."

"That settles it, stranger. We owe you an apology; but you
had a narrow 'squeak' of it, and but for the gal, you'd have
been dangling now from yonder spar."

Turning to the wounded man, the fellow continued:

"Tom, who was the man who assailed you?"

"I know him."

"You're going to die; tell us, old man, who did the deed?"

The old man-of-war's-man, who had been attending the wounded
smuggler, exclaimed:

"Die, is it? Not he! Tom Pearce is good for a three-years'
cruise yet; and he'd a mind to take it!"

"Well, tell us who the man was, Tom?"

"No, boys, not now; it was a private quarrel. I'm coming
around all right, and I'm much obliged for the good feeling
you men have shown toward me; but I'll settle with the man who
downed me--settle with him good, and no mistake!"

"All right, you have your own way, but when you're around
again, we want to have a talk with you; and, meantime, Renie,
I've a few words to say to you in private."

"You want to talk to me, Ike Denman!"

"Yes."

"Well, speak out."

"Clear out, boys; you know what business you have on hand; get
down to work, and if you fail, I'll meet you at Rigby's later
on."

The men moved away, the detective going with them; and a few
moments later Renie, Denman, and the old smuggler were alone.

"Renie," said Denman, "haven't we always treated you well?"

"I've never complained of the treatment I've received on the
coast."

"Then, why have you turned against us?"

"I've not turned against you."

"Go slow, girl, go slow! Don't say anything you'll have to
take back."

"I know just what I'm saying."

"There's been an enemy on the coast."

"A Government officer?"

"Yes; a Government officer."

"Who warned him he was in danger?"

"Who first learned he was a Government officer?"

"That's neither here nor there. Who warned him not to go off
in the yacht this night?"

"I did."

"You did?"

"Yes."

"Why did you do so?"

"I did not want to see the man murdered."

"Who told you the man would be murdered?"

Ike Denman fixed his keen eyes sharply on the girl when he
asked the question.

"No one told me."

"See here, girl, do not tell me that!"

"You have my answer."

"Renie, before to-night I would have taken your word for
anything; but now I doubt you!"

"I can't help it, I have told you the truth."

"Someone must have told you our plans?"

"No one told me."

"And what did you tell the detective?"

"I told him not to go off in the yacht to-night."

"What more did you tell him?"

"I told him to leave the coast."

"What reason did you give him for warning hunt rot to go off
in the yacht?"

"I told him he'd never return alive."

"That's frank and straight."

"I always tell the truth."

"And now, girl, we have something, worse than a Government
officer on the coast."

The girl remained silent, and Denman continued:

"A traitor is worse than a Government officer, and, we have a
traitor in our midst."

The girl still remained silent. She supposed the fellow was
alluding to her.

"Renie, you must tell me who told you our plans?"

"No one told me your plans."

"Listen, girl, I want to keep you out of trouble; let me tell
you something; the men are very much incensed against you, and
have uttered terrible threats."

"I can't help it."

"Why did you warn the detective?"

"I did not wish to see the man murdered."

"And you turned against your father and us all?"

"I have turned against no one. I only sought to save a man's
life."

"The man is a friend of yours?"

"I never spoke to him before in my life, until I warned him of
his danger."

"Where is the man?"

"If he is wise, he has left the coast."

"Will you tell me how you have learned of our plans?"

"I overheard you discuss them."

"And you are the traitor

"I am the traitor!"

"Girl, never confess to anyone else what you have confessed
to me!"

The old smuggler was a listener to the foregoing conversation,
and he said:

"Renie is tender-hearted."

"Yes; but, Tom, Renie must go away."

"Yes; she is going away."

"Have you a place for her?"

"Yes."

"Will you tell me who assailed you?"

"Ike, I can't tell you all; but I was assailed on Renie's
account."

"You were assailed on Renie's account?"

"Yes."

"This is a strange story!"

"Some day you will know why I was assailed."

"Was it one of our people?"

"No."

"A stranger?"

"Yes."

"Who?"

"A man you know."

"Name him."

"Not to-night."

"When will Renie go away?"

"As soon as possible."

"Tom, I am a friend of yours, and your daughter's; but I tell
you the girl is in a bad fix."

"She shall go away."

"To-morrow?"

"We shall see."

Ike Denman remained to exchange a few more words, and went
away; the father and daughter were alone.

The girl told of the attempt to kidnap her.

"I see it all, Renie, I see it all! But you are safe, and you
shall not come to harm; but tell me, who, is the man who was
brought before me?"

The girl was saved an answer, for the man walked in to answer
for himself.

CHAPTER XII.

Renie was surprised to see the detective enter the cabin.

"Tom Pearce," said our hero, "I am a stranger to you and
yours, but I am your friend. I cannot tell you who I am at
present, but in good time you shall know all!"

"How was it you were suspected of having assailed me?" asked
the old smuggler.

"I was coming to your cabin to ask some questions, when, as a
stranger, who could give no satisfactory account of himself, I
was arrested."

Renie had told her father that the detective had rescued her
from the hands of Garcia and his men.

The old smuggler was not altogether satisfied with the young
man's statement, as a suspicion ran through his mind that he
was, after all, a secret emissary of the Cuban.

"You were coming to see me?" said the old smuggler.

"Yes."

"What is your business with me?"

"I can defer my business to some other time; the fact of your
injury prevents me from troubling you now."

"Never mind my injury, I am all right now. I received many a
worse thump when I was a younger man, but I am an old one now,
and I tell you age will tell; but you can open your business."

"I am your friend, Tom Pearce."

"Many an enemy claims to be a man's friend."

"Had I known what I do now, you would never have been stricken
down."

"I can tell you that had I known myself what I do now, I would
never have been stricken down."

"The man Garcia is your enemy!"

"Eh? What's that you are saying?"

"I am telling you the man Garcia is your enemy!"

"What do you know about the man Garcia?"

"I know he is a villain!"

The old smuggler fixed his eyes on the young man, and said:

"Who sent you here?"

"No one."

"Why did you come here?"

"To warn you against Garcia."

The statement in various ways, as our readers will recognize,
was the truth.

"You came here to warn me against Garcia?"

"Yes."

"Why should you come to warn me?"

"Because I know the man who assailed you to be a villain."

"The man who assailed me?"

"Yes."

"How do you know who assailed me?"

"I know him."

"How comes it that you are any friend? Why should you warn
me? Have you known me before?"

"I never saw you until this night to my recollection."

"Then how is it you take such an interest in me?"

"My interest in you is because of Garcia's designs, I hate
that man. I am on his track, and I am the friend of any man
whom he is against!"

"Are you acquainted with my daughter?" asked the old smuggler
in a suspicious tone.

"I never saw your daughter before to-night."

"How did you know Garcia was coming here?"

"I tracked him."

"Why did you track him?"

"Because I knew he was up to some villainy."

"You say the man is my enemy?"

"Would a friend assail you as you have been assailed sailed
this night?"

"How do you know Garcia assailed me?"

"I tracked him to this house, and a few moments after he left
the house you were found lying unconscious in this room."

"Where were you when I was assaulted?"

"I was down at the bay shore."

"What were you doing there?"

"Watching the men whom Garcia brought with him to aid him in
his design."

"This is a strange story you are telling me, young man. How
do I know but you are an enemy?"

"I am not an enemy!"

"But are you an enemy to Garcia?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"That is a private matter."

"Why is he my enemy?"

The young man was silent, but looked toward Renie.

The old smuggler followed the direction of his glance end
said:

"Come, speak out plainly, do not fear!"

"I fear nothing."

"Then speak."

The young man reached over the bed and whispered in the old
man's ear:

"I do not wish to speak in your daughter's presence."

"Renie, go from the cabin a few moments, this man has
something to tell me."

The detective signaled to the girl to obey, but the latter
showed some hesitancy and said:

"Father, I do not wish to leave you alone with stranger."

"You need not fear, child, and you can remain within call."

"Are you sure this is not the man who assaulted you?"

"Yes, child. I know well enough who assaulted me; go away,
I will call you when I wish you to return."

The girl went from the room, but at the same time exhibited
considerable reluctance.

The detective's admiration for the girl increased. He
recognized that she was playing a part, and really aiding
him in impressing the old man as intended.

When alone, the old smoggier said:

"Now, speak out, young man!"

"Do you suspect Garcia's purpose?"

"We are not talking about what I suspect, whale have you to
tell me?"

"Garcia has designs against your daughter, all his pretensions
about desiring to benefit her are a part of his scheme. He is
a deep dyed villain, a man capable of any crime."

"How do I know you are not one of his agents?"

"It wouldn't stand to reason that, if I were his Agent, I
would denounce him."

"That might be a part of his purpose."

"I warn you against the man; take nobody's advice; keep your
daughter under your own special care."

"Why have you such an interest in my daughter?" demanded the
old smuggler, abruptly, and again he fixed his eyes keenly on
the detective.

"I am against Garcia, whatever his schemes may be; and now
that I've warned you, I've nothing more to say; do as you
choose, I owe you nothing, nor do you owe me anything; you can
believe what I have told you, or doubt it, just as you choose,
but remember I have warned you!"

The detective started to leave the cabin, when the old man
called him back and asked:

"What is your name?"

"My name is Ballard."

"Where are you from?"

"Cuba."

"Will I see you again?"

"You may; but let me tell you one thing, if you wish me to
remain your friend, tell no man that I warned you against
Garcia. I propose to hang around the coast for awhile."

"For what purpose?"

"To circumvent the villain Garcia. I may stand you in good
need when you least expect it, if you permit me to be your
friend."

CHAPTER XIII.

Without another word the detective departed from the cabin;
a little distance across the sand he saw a figure. He
recognized Renie and went toward her.

"I did not know you," said the girl.

"You may not know me the next time we meet."

"This is wonderful."

"I am a detective, I have made a study of the art of disguise;
my success and my safety ofttimes depend upon my skill in
changing my appearance at a moment's notice; but now, let me
thank you for saving my life!"

"Saving your life!"

"Yes."

"It was for me you put your life in jeopardy."

"No, no, I am carrying out my own designs."

"You saved me from that man Garcia!"

"And you saved me from being hanged by those men."

"You will leave the coast now?"

"Leave the coast?"

"Yes."

"Well, I reckon not. I've just got down to business."

"You will be discovered; you will be in worse peril as the
Government detective than you were as the supposed assailant
of my father."

"I can take care of myself."

"And you will remain?"

"I will remain."

"You invite your doom."

"Well, well, I've often done the same thing before; I am in
the way of duty. Renie, understand me, I am your friend. I
will risk anything to guard you from evil, but it is my duty
to break up this gang of smugglers, and I shall do my duty at
any cost!"

"But I have betrayed you."

"Yes, I know all about it; your betrayal was not intentional;
you are a brave noble girl! tell me, are you in any way
connected with the smugglers?"

"I am not."

"Then fear nothing."

"But my father?"

"Your father is not actively engaged as a smuggler now, and I
will not get him into trouble, but I must do my duty, and now
answer me frankly, are you against me?"

"How against you?"

"I have decided to remain and do my duty, I am the enemy of
the gang! Are you their friend? Will you stand between me
and them?"

"Never! but I know you will never leave the coast alive!
those men will not rest day or night until they run you down,
and I cannot aid you, as I have already earned their enmity,
and they have demanded that I be sent away!"

"That is all right."

"The girl laughed and said:

"It is easy enough to say 'that is all right,' but where shall
I go?"

"Go with Tom Pearce."

"Tom Pearce will not leave the coast."

"Yes, he will."

"Did he tell you so?"

"No, but I will persuade him. I will show him very soon that
it is best for him to go. He will go, never fear!"

"You will never persuade him."

"I will use an argument you do not dream of, my, girl; and
now, mark me, I am your friend. I have promised to solve the
mystery surrounding your commission to the care of the Pearces
many years ago. I will learn all about you, I will find the
box."

"What box?"

The detective smiled as he remembered that the girl knew
nothing about the box, and he said:

"Ah, that is a way we detectives have of speaking! the secret
of your life is boxed somewhere, we would say, and I will
unravel the mystery."

"Why should you take such an interest in me?"

"Did you not save my life?"

"But did you not imperil your life in my behalf?"

"No; I was in the way of duty when I fell into the hands of
the smugglers under such peculiar circumstances; but never
mind, we will not discuss that matter. I have seen fit to
make you a promise, and I will make my promise good."

"Never! if you decide to remain on the coast."

"I shall remain! and now, Renie, as we are friends, let us
arrange so as to guard against future perils. I may appear
here under many disguises, it is necessary for both of us that
you should always know and recognize me; but you must never
betray your recognition; to you in the presence of others I
must always be a stranger; your safety and my own demands it,
but all will come out right in the end."

"Never! Never! those men will kill you!"

"I shall go to sea with those men before to-morrow's sunset."

"You will never return."

"Oh, yes I will; and now listen."

The detective proceeded and arranged a number of secret signs
and signals with the girl. He instructed her in a private
finger code, and found her a ready and apt scholar. He gave
her also a written chart for future study, telling her that if
she mastered it, they could converse in the presence of
others, and none would be the wiser.

Having concluded his instructions, he said:

"Go now to your father. I may not see you for two or three
days, but always be on your guard."

"Against whom?"

"Garcia."

"Do you think he will dare return?"

"That man may have secret agents among the smugglers."

"None of the men would betray me to him."

"We cannot tell what money may accomplish; but I do not
anticipate danger for a few days, or I would not leave, you;
still you must be on your guard."

"Where go you now?"

"To Rigby's."

"To Rigby's?" ejaculated the girl.

"Yes; why not?"

"You go at your peril!"

The detective laughed and said:

"Never fear for me; good-night!"

Without waiting to listen to further words of warning the
detective walked rapidly away.

Renie returned to the cabin; the girl was disturbed and
thoughtful. The dream of her lonely life was opening up to
her, but alas! the picture was fringed with dark surroundings.

Upon entering the cabin the girl was addressed by her father,
who asked:

"Renie, what do you think of that fellow?"

"He is a mysterious man, father, but he appears to be friendly
to us."

"He has spoken nothing but the truth, so far, my child.
Garcia is a villain! it was he who assailed me."

"How was it he came to assail you, father?"

"My child, that man has designs against you; it is time that I
told you all I know concerning yourself!"

"Do so, father."

The old smuggler proceeded and related to Renie all that he
had told to Garcia, and also stated the Cuban's proposition.

The girl was silent, but deeply interested, and the one
thought that ran through her mind was the knowledge that
Spencer Vance had overheard the revelation when made to
Garcia.

The old man had just concluded his narrative when an intruder
walked into the cabin.

CHAPTER XIV.

A reckless gang of men were assembled in the low tavern kept
my a man named Rigby.

The latter was a remarkable man. He kept a low seashore
resort, a place where fishermen and the roughest sort of men
gathered, and yet he was a man of considerable education and a
great deal of cunning, and coined more good money in this
little seaside tavern then did other rumsellers who occupied
saloons in the great city, that cost thousands to fit up and
decorate.

Rigby was too cunning and careful to be a smuggler himself,
but he was also cunning enough to "scoop in" the major portion
of the earnings of the men engaged in the perilous trade.

It was only when the business had grown to large proportions
that the Government organized a regular plan for its
suppression; and at the time our story opens, the play between
the smugglers and the Government agents was at its finest
point. It was well known that there were parties in New York
who had, and were still realizing immense sums of money by
cheating the Government of its legitimate revenue.

The Collector of the Port did not care so much about the crews
of the vessels, it was the owners and capitalists he was
seeking to trail down.

The smugglers had given over the search for Spencer Vance, and
in parties of twos and threes, had gathered at Rigby's, until
at least fifteen or twenty men were assembled. They were all
smugglers and members of the crew of the smuggler yacht
"Nancy."

As intimated in our opening chapters, the men ostensibly were
fishermen, and their boat was stated to be a fishing-boat; and
to lend color to the claim, the men did go off between times
on fishing expeditions, and the latter little trick had been
their best "blind" and "throw off."

Again, as intimated in our former chapters, three Government
officers had mysteriously disappeared, and the duty had
devolved upon the Government officials not only to stay the
illegal traffic, but to ferret out and bring to punishment the
murderers of the missing detectives.

There was no actual proof, however, that the men were
murdered; as far as the Government officials were advisedly
concerned, the detectives were merely missing. It was
reported by some "Smart Alec" that the detectives had been put
on outgoing vessels bound for some distant port, and that in
good season they would turn up, and then again there was the
chance that the officers might have met with accidents in
their perilous undertaking.

Spencer Vance, however, was fully satisfied in his own mind
that his brother officers had been murdered. He knew too well
that tragic events are of constant occurrence which never come
to light; tragedies so terrible that were the details to be
known, a thrill of horror would go throughout the whole land.

There are horrors enough that do become public, but there are
as many more that never come to the surface.

The men, as stated, gathered at Rigby's; they had just
returned from a search for Spencer Vance.

There was no doubt in their minds as to the truth of the
report that he was a spy in their midst. The fact that he had
declined to go out on the yacht that night was to them proof
as clear as "Holy Writ" that he was a Government officer.

It was important to catch him and put him out of the way as
soon as possible, as there were several very valuable
shipments on the way to New York, and chances favored the men
for making quite large sums of money.

Our readers must not understand that the vessel engaged in the
smuggling business carried no other freight; the goods
intended to be smuggled in was but a small part of their
cargo, but amounted on each vessel to enough to yield enormous
profits to the capitalists as well as to the actual smuggler
crews.

One of the men, as he drunk off a glass of grog, remarked:

"Boys, it's a cold day for us that the fellow should have
received a warning; it's money out of our pockets!"

There was a one-eyed, ugly visaged fellow sitting off in a
corner of the room, who remarked:

"You lads will see colder days yet; you may say the business
is all up, and we'd better take the 'Nancy' over to the
mackerel banks and work for a few honest pennies."

"What makes you say that, Jake?"

"I'm only telling yer the truth; yer a chicken-hearted lot,
and losing all yer game; for what? the pretty face of a
she-devil!"

Too well the men all understood one-eyed Jake's savage
suggestion.

"You don't think," said one of them, "that the gal is dead
against us?"

"Well, I think she is as dead against us as a few dollars in
gold can make a female who's fond of gewgaws, and ambitious to
be a fine lady."

"Do you mean to say Renie receives money?"

"Well, I don't think bad enough of the gal to say she'd go
agin us for fun. I tell you, boys, the thing is dead agin us
unless the gal is silenced!"

The men all entered loud protests; the girl was a great
favorite yet with most of them, as she had grown up in their
midst.

"Oh, I expected you'd growl when you learned the truth, and
it's the gal or us--, as you all think so much of the gal, I
propose we lay provision in the 'Nancy,' and go off after
mackerel.

"What would you propose, Jake?"

"I propose sending the gal away."

"You would do her no harm?"

"I wouldn't harm a hair of her head; but she's doing us a good
deal of harm all the same."

"It's already been suggested to Tom Pearce to send the gal
away."

"He'll never do it!"

"But he must."

"It's all right to say he must; but who'll make old Tom Pearce
do a thing when he's made up his mind that he won't?"

"What would you propose?"

"I'd propose that we smuggle the gal."

"How smuggle her?"

"Take her out on the 'Nancy,' and put her aboard some outgoing
vessel as a passenger."

"That wouldn't do, Jake."

"Then let's go mackerel-fishing, for the other trade is
knocked dead in the head."

The men were all drinking, and became more or less excited
under the influence of the liquor.

Jake was a bad fellow at heart, but he was one of the most
daring men in the crew of jolly smugglers and the men had
great confidence in his judgment.

"I tell you, boys, the gal must be disposed of, or she'll give
information right; just see how we stand now; there's a boat
due, there's a big haul for us, and this man has been in our
midst for two weeks or more, and he's got all the points and--"
The man's further speech was interrupted by the entrance of
a stranger.

CHAPTER XV.

The man who suddenly entered in the midst of the speech of
one-eyed Jake was Ballard, the man whom an hour or two
previously that very gang of men had set to hang.

The crew of the "Nancy" gazed at the new-comer in astonishment,
and a wicked gleam shone in the single eye of Jake.

"You're cheeky, stranger, to walk in here after what's just
happened!"

The disguised detective laughed in a pleasant manner, and
answered:

"That's just why I'm here; you fellows ought to be glad to see
me knocking around alive, when you think how bad you would
have felt had you swung me over the spar."

"We've no fancy for strangers around here!"

"We'll a man who's been following the sea all his life should
not be a stranger among you fellows."

"Where have you sailed, stranger?"

"Better ask where I haven't sailed, and it won't take so long
to pay out the information."

There was an off hand, jolly sort of style about the stranger
which rather pleased the gang of smugglers.

"What brought you down this way?"

"I've been off for five years, and when I'm off on a voyage I'm
clean gone; all the doors are closed behind me. I never get
any letters, and I never send any, so it's all news to me when
I come in from the sea; and I came down here to see my
mother's cousin."

"Who is your mother's cousin, stranger?"

"Well, you fellows are running down close into a strange
craft; my relative was old Aunt Betsy, Tom Pearce's wife."

"She's dead!"

"Well, so I know now; and I came near being sent after her;
but all's well that ends well, so come, all hands, and have a
little throat burner with me."

The men were all glad enough to step up and take a snifter
with the stranger, who after so long a voyage they reckoned
must have a pocketful of the wherewithal.

We will not go further into the details of the methods pursued
by the detective to worm himself into the confidence of the
smugglers; it is sufficient to say that within two hours after
his appearance in their midst he had won all their hearts.

Our readers can form some idea of the wonderful skill,
coolness, and daring of the detective, who within twenty-four
hours walked under a new disguise right into the midst of a
gang of desperate men, who, had they recognized him as he was
known but a few hours previously, would have killed him as
they would have slain a venomous serpent.

A number of the men fell into a regular carouse with the
detective; among them was Ike Denman, the captain of the yacht
"Nancy." Indeed, the men got into a game of cards, and
Ballard lost like a little man and stood his ill luck with
such marvelous good nature, the men fell right to him.

When it was well into the morning, the game broke up, and
Denman invited the detective to go aboard the yacht and bunk
for the night.

Our hero gladly accepted the invitation; and when once aboard,
as it was a pleasant morning, the two even lay out upon the
deck, and Denman became quite confidential. He let the
detective into the secret of the real business of the crew of
the yacht, and told him that daily they were expecting a
schooner from the West Indies with a big cargo for them.

"How do you run it ashore?" asked the detective, innocently.

"Make a trip with us and we'll show you how the thing is done;
the fact is I'm a man or two short, and if you want to take a
rake in with us you're welcome."

"That's just the ticket for me!" answered Spencer Vance.

Our readers must understand that the detective had been
wonderfully diplomatic and cute to so readily, worm himself
into the confidence of Ike Denman.

The men at length went to sleep and slept far into the
morning. Ike Denman was the first to awake, seemingly, but in
reality the detective had been on the alert all the time.

The master of the "Nancy" was quite a different man in the
morning when burning under the after-effects of liquor than he
was when in the full fever of a jolly spell. As he opened his
eyes and saw our hero stretched upon the deck, he gave him a
lunge in the ribs, and as Vance opened his eyes, Denman
exclaimed:

"Hello! what are you snoozing there for, old man?"

The detective was on his feet in a moment.

"Who are you, and what are you doing here?"

Denman appeared to have forgotten who our hero was, but in
reality he was only pretending to forget.

Denman was a good sailor, and a very cunning man; but at heart
he was a very ugly and desperate fellow, and not at all
distinguished by any of the generous traits usually
characteristic of jolly tars.

"What's the matter, captain?"

"What's the matter? I'm asking you who you are, and what you
are doing here?"

The detective came a little nearer, and assumed a surprised
air.

"Don't stand there, making sober faces. Who are you, and what
are you doing here?"

Denman was conscious that he was given to talking too much
when in his cups, and he was leading the new hand on to betray
just how much had been revealed to him.

"You shipped me last night, captain."

"I shipped you last night?"

"Yes; but if you don't want me as one of your crew, I'm
willing."

"Who are you, anyhow?"

"My name is Ballard. I told you who I was last night."

"What did you tell me?"

"See here, captain, it ain't necessary to go over all that
passed between us last night. If you don't wart to take me on
with you, say so, and I'll get ashore."

Denman laughed in a merry manner, and said:

"I reckon it's all right."

"I can prove it's all right, captain."

"How so?"

Ballard ran his eye over the yacht's rigging, and said:

"Would you take any suggestions from a man who had plenty of
experience in crafts of this sort?"

"I would; yes."

The detective who really was a splendid seaman, made some very
pertinent and useful suggestions, and Denman was just sailor
enough to appreciate that he had secured a useful man; and he
said:

"It's all right. Consider yourself shipped. You're just the
man I want; and we'll get to work at once on your
alterations."

The suggestions were such as could easily be carried out by
the master and his crew, and soon all hands were busy.

It had been decided that the yacht would go to sea that night,
and our hero was booked for the trip.

Spencer Vance had played his cards well. He improved every
moment in making himself popular with the crew, and late in
the afternoon, when all hands went ashore, he was the hero of
the gang. In an offhand manner the detective remarked, as the
boat was run on the beach:

"I'll see you later, boys; I'm going over for a bit to look
after Tom Pearce."

CHAPTER XVI.

Spencer Vance had proceeded but a short distance, when he saw
the figure of a girl coming across the sand, and his
astonishment was great, when, upon a nearer approach, he
recognized Renie.

The girl was neatly dressed, and her feet were covered with
dainty slippers, while her hair was tastefully arranged.

Our hero had been impressed with the girl's rare beauty upon
beholding her barefooted in her loose gown and unkempt hair;
but, as he gazed upon her face when arrayed in neat and
well-fitting attire, his admiration was increased.

Renie was indeed a rarely lovely girl--yes, upon those sands
he had come upon one of the most beautiful girls he had ever
beheld--classically beautiful; not pretty, but, as we write
it, rarely beautiful, and she had been reared in a fisherman's
cabin.

There was a certain suggestion in the girl's appearance before
him in her best attire, that caused a glow of satisfaction
around the detective's heart.

There was nothing rich nor elegant in her apparel, but she was
so exquisitely lovely her beauty could not be hidden by
clothing, no matter how plain. The girl greeted the detective
in a frank, open manner, and appeared greatly pleased to meet
him. "I expected you to return to the cabin," she said.

"No; I spent the evening with the crew."

"You did not go in the yacht?"

"Yes, I did."

"Oh, why do you take such risks?"

"Never mind about the risk; how is your father?"

"He appears to be all right. He is up and around."

"What does he say about the assault?"

"He has said nothing since last night."

"Has he expressed any determination as to his course?"

"No."

"Well, you must be on your guard, and when I return from my
trip, I will have a proposition to make."

"When you return from your trip?"

"Yes."

"Where are you going?"

"I am going off in the yacht."

"This must not be. No, no, you must not go off in the yacht,
it will be certain death!"

"I have spent the night with the crew of the 'Nancy,' and they
all think me a splendid fellow, and none of them has the least
suspicion of my real identity."

"Was Sol Burton present?"

"No."

"Then you must not go on the yacht."

"What has the presence of Sol Burton to do with my going or
staying?"

"I believe that man has penetrated your disguise."

"Impossible!"

"I saw him this morning."

"Well?"

"He asked eked me some strange questions. He was very curious
concerning your identity."

A shadow fell over the detective's face.

"He spoke about me?"

"Yes."

"But he was speaking of the Government detective?"

"No; he was speaking of you as you have appeared among them in
your present guise."

"Does he suspect my real identity."

"I do not know, but he was very inquisitive concerning you."

"What did he say?"

"He lay in wait for me this morning, and when he got an
opportunity he asked: 'Renie, who is that man the boys were
going to hang last night?'"

"What answer slid you make?"

"I answered: 'You know as well as I do;' when he exclaimed:
'You can't fool me, Renie, you have met that man before.'"

The detective was thoughtful a moment, but at length said:

"I reckon that fellow would be jealous of anyone whom you
might address."

"There was a deeper significance in his declaration, and as he
went away he said: 'I would not be surprised Renie, if that
fellow were to be hanged yet, before another sunrise!'"

"His talk is all buncome, Renie, you need not attach any
importance to anything he may say."

"But you will not go off in the yacht?"

"Yes; I shall go!"

A pallor overspread the girl's face, and a look of expressive
sadness shone in her eyes as she murmured,

"It is my fate!"

"What do you mean, child?"

"I mean that you are a real friend; you are he of whom I
dreamed."

The detective glanced at the girl with an expression of
aroused curiousness as he said:

"You dreamed of me?"

"Yes."

"This is very strange. What could have suggested such a
dream?"

"I have dreamed all my life that some good friend would come
some day and unravel the mystery of my parentage. It was
accident that brought you and me together; but I had come to
believe, although I have only known you for a few hours, that
you were the good angel who would open the sealed book."

The detective advanced close to the girl, fixed his eyes upon
her, and, while a bright flush reddened his cheek, he said, in
an earnest tone:

"And so I will, Renie!"

"No, no; you have only come to raise a false hope."

"You are a strange girl, Renie."

"Yes, I am a strange girl in your eyes; but there is nothing
strange about me. Mv surroundings make me appear so. Listen:
I long for other scenes and associations; there is nothing
that holds me to my present life. I know there is someone
somewhere who longs for me as I yearn for her."

"Your mother?"

"Yes, my mother."

"If your mother be alive, it shall be my good office to bring
mother and child together."

"Never."

"Why do you say never?"

"You are determined to go off on the yacht?"

"Yes, I shall go off on the yacht."

"We will never meet again."

"You take too gloomy a view of the situation."

"I know well the character of the crew of the 'Nancy.'"

"So do I."

A deeper pallor overspread the girl's face, as in a low,
husky voice she whispered:

"I believe they are leading you on."

"Leading me on?"

"Yes."

"I do not understand."

"You say you are going off with them?"

"Yes."

"They would not take a stranger off with them unless they had
a purpose."

The girl had offered a most startling suggestion.

"The circumstances are peculiar, Renie, and I am a good
seaman. I have already proved myself of service to them."

"That does not alter my idea."

"What's your idea?"

"I have a suspicion."

A moment's silence followed, when the detective asked:

"What do you suspect!"

"They have recognized you!"

CHAPTER XVII.

The few sharp quick words of the girl betrayed volumes. Her
suggestion was indeed startling; and, what was more; there was
not only a possibility, but a probability that her suspicion
was correct.

A silence followed her words, but at length the detective said:

"I shall go off on the yacht, Renie."

"And you will never return!"

"Yes, I shall return."

"Suppose my suspicion is correct, and those men are leading
you on?"

"It matters not, Renie, I shall go!"

"Are you madly seeking death?"

"No."

"If those men have recognized you, and are playing a part,
there will be no chance for you the moment that yacht crosses
the bar on her way out to sea."

The detective on the impulse of the moment, was prompted to
ask:

"Suppose they kill me, what will you do, Renie?"

The girl was silent until the detective repeated his question.

"I know what I shall do!"

"What will you do?"

"Roam the beach until all hope of the recovery of your body is
passed and then I shall lie down and die." She spoke in a
weird, despairing tone.

"And you have known me but a few hours."

"Yes, I have known you to speak to you but a few hours, and
yet I have come to believe that all the dreams of my life
center in you."

The young man advanced and seized the girl's hand; the latter
made no effort to withdraw it from his firm grasp.

"Renie," he said, "you need have no fear, I am not destined to
die at the hands of the smugglers. I am assigned to a certain
duty, the opportunity to fulfill my mission is now presented.
I shall go on the yacht to-night, but when she returns I will
return with her!"

"You are determined to go?"

"I am."

"I shall say no more, but I shall watch."

"Yes, Renie, do so; and when the yacht comes sailing up the
bay, you may know that I come on her."

"I shall not watch for the return of the yacht," said the girl
in a sad, despairing tone.

"What will you do?"

"Wait on the beach to see what the waves will bring me. If,
when the deed is done, the tide be flowing in, I may gain
something from the waves; but if the tide is on the ebb, I
shall never gaze on your face again."

There was no mistaking the girl's weird meaning, and her words
were practical, as she well knew the results which under
certain circumstances might follow the tidal conditions.

Spencer Vance saw that it was useless to waste further words
with Renie and he said,

"A few hours will tell the tale, Renie, and--"

The detective did not complete the sentence; voices were heard
and Renie exclaimed:

"You and I must not be seen talking together; farewell, and if
we never meet again on earth, may we meet where there are no
clouds, no shadows, no mysteries." The girl moved away and
left the detective standing alone on the beach. The sun had
gone down, the moon was just rising out of the sea, and the
whole surrounding scene was impressive and one of solemn
grandeur.

The detective stood motionless, and the ceaseless murmur of
the waves, as they broke upon the shore sounded like a requiem
in his ears; but not once did he waver in his purpose. It
might be that Renie would prove a true prophet, and if the
tide served right those very waves, or rather their
successors, might cast his body upon the shore; but despite
all, he was determined to sail on the "Nancy" that night to
win or die.

Two hours later there was quite a bustle on board the yacht as
she was being prepared to sail away.

The trip of the "Nancy" did not as a rule, exceed ten or
fifteen hours, as she only ran twenty or thirty miles directly
off the coast, where she cruised around waiting for the signal
to flash across the water front some incoming vessel, said
signal being an intimation as to the character of the craft.

Ike Denman, as commander of the "Nancy," was a different man
from Ike Denman carousing with the crew ashore.

The "Nancy" was what nautical men would call a magnificent
craft, and landsmen would naturally dub her a "daisy." She
had been built as a sea-going boat, in the most substantial
manner, and was indeed a stanch little mistress of the sea.

It was a beautiful evening as the mainsail was hoisted away
and the gallant boat glided over the waters of the bay across
the bar, and through the ruffled channel out to sea.

The detective had weighed well the words of the beautiful
Renie, and was on the watch. Her suggestion was apt, and, as
the detective thought over matters, he came to think that
certain little indexes pointed toward a confirmation of her
suspicions.

Indeed, it was an awful peril he was facing, were it really a
fact that the men had "tumbled" to his identity, and were
giving him a "blind," leading him, only waiting for the proper
moment to cast off their masks and throw him into the sea.

There was one incident in his favor: the men were not at all
reserved in the discussion of the business on hand. They
talked over the purpose of the night, and opened up their
expectations in the most unreserved manner.

The master of the craft, in his orders, made no distinction
between our hero and the other members of the crew.

Meantime the boat danced over the waves, and, after an hour or
two, was cruising across the track of inward-bound vessels.

Soon there came the announcement of the lights of a vessel,
and the "Nancy" was cautiously run on a course which would
enable her captain to take observations.

The lights proved to be those of an ocean steamer, and the
great leviathan, with its precious freight of human souls,
plowed past the taut little yacht distant only half a mile.

When the lights were first seen, the detective was standing
forward of the mainmast, and suddenly a pallor overspread his
face. If it should prove that the lights were those of an
incoming smuggler, the critical moment had arrived for him.

Our hero was intently watching the lights, as were the balance
of the crew, waiting for a signal, and so absorbed was he as
not to observe the presence of Sol Burton close by his side.

A few moments passed, and the lights were made out, and the
word was passed around, "It's a steamer!"

The detective turned to go aft, when he found himself face to
face with Sol Burton.

The two men had met as comrades once or twice before, during
the two or three hours the boat had been out on the sea, but
not a word had passed between them; but as they met after the
distinguishing of the lights, Burton addressed our hero and
said:

"You're the new man?"

"Yes," was the short answer.

"Your first trip on the 'Nancy?'"

"Yes."

There was a premonition, of danger in the next words of Sol
Burton.

CHAPTER XVIII.

"I think I've seen you before, Ballard!"

Sol Burton spoke in slow and very distinct tones, and his
manner betrayed that there was a deep significance in his
declaration.

"If you remember having seen me before, you have the
advantage, my good friend."

"I think I've seen you before. I met you on board the
'Nancy.'"

"Where?"

"I cannot recall, but there is something in your face that
strikes me as very familiar."

The detective laughed in an easy manner, and answered

"Well, you'll have to depend upon your own recollections, I
can't aid you to a recognition."

As the detective spoke he remembered Renie's warning words,
"Sol Burton, I fear, has his suspicions aroused."

"I noticed you turn pale when we first sighted the lights,
Ballard."

"Did you?"

"I did."

Ballard stepped close to Sol Burton, and demanded in a
determined tone,

"What are you getting at? I don't like this cross-questioning."

"That's my idea, Ballard. I don't think you like this
cross-questioning, and I think further there is a good reason
for you not liking it."

"If you've anything to say to me, spit it."

"When did you first show up on the coast?"

"Who are you? What's your name?" retorted Ballard.

"My name is Sol Burton."

"Ah, you are Burton; yes, I've heard about you!"

The detective used the words, "I've heard about you," in a
very meaning tone.

"You've heard about me?"

"Yes, I've heard about you," came the response.

"What have you heard about me?"

"Oh, that's all right; your name is Sol Burton. Yes, yes,
I've heard about you."

The declaration was reiterated in a tone of more aggravating
significance.

"See here, Ballard, I want you to tell me what you mean."

"I've heard about you."

"What have you heard about me?"

"It's all right; I tell you I've heard about you. Yes, yes,
your name is Burton; that's the man; I've heard about you."

Our readers can readily understand that the constant
repetition of the declaration in a meaning tone was, under the
circumstances, very aggravating, and Sol Burton lost his
temper, his eyes flashed with anger, and his face became
white, as he said:

"If you do not tell me what you mean, I'll knock you down!"

"I reckon you won't knock me down!"

"Will you tell me what you mean?"

"I'll tell you I've heard about you, and so I have; that is
enough."

"See here, Ballard, it won't do for you to quarrel with me!"

"I don't care who I quarrel with!"

Burton advanced and whispered:

"I might come 'Quaker' on you, and give you a bad name."

"You can do just as you choose. I am not asking odds of you."

"I've my suspicions of you, Ballard."

Burton spoke in a hoarse whisper; the man was excited and
trembling with rage and irritation.

It is possible a tragic denouement might have followed the
dialogue, had there not come just at that moment a startling
interruption to the impending quarrel.

Again there came the signal cry: "Lights ahead!" and all hands
ran eagerly to the rail to study the character of the distant
craft.

All was silent watchfulness and expectancy as the two boats
approached nearer and nearer across the dark waters. Suddenly
there shot up high into the air a rocket and when far toward
the clouds, a "bomb burst in air," and there followed a shower
of many colored lights.

At once there was great excitement on board the "Nancy." Sol
Burton had not stopped to finish his threatening talk with our
hero, but all was bustle and excitement and work.

The boats were prepared for launching, and the ship's course
was changed, and our hero knew that the, long-expected
smuggler had arrived.

Soon the two vessels approached each other; additional signals
were exchanged, and the real purpose of the voyage was
unfolded.

The smuggler kept upon her course, under close reefed sails,
but her crew was busy casting certain curious looking packages
into the sea.

The boats from the "Nancy" were launched and manned, and were
pulled away toward floating objects that had been cast upon
the water.

Our hero was in one of the boats, and soon his crew came upon
one of the floating objects and it was hauled into the boat.

One of the methods and mysteries was explained; the floating
objects were large rubber and guttapercha bags, water-tight
and unsinkable, and in these waterproof sacks was packed the
contraband merchandise.

Four boats were at work, and within a couple of hours no less
than thirty-three of these sacks were put on board the
"Nancy," containing thousands and thousands of dollars worth
of goods that were never intended to pay duty to good old
Uncle Sam.

All the bags were put on board, and the "Nancy" was ready to
run into the bay and land her contraband cargo.

The detective expected she would run back on the course over
which she had come out, but such was not the fact; on the
contrary she lay to until all the goods were stowed below.

Spencer Vance had worked like a trooper, and for the time
being, was the most active smuggler of them all, but later on
he was brought face to face with his peril.

Our hero had finished all he had been called upon to do, and
was standing leaning against the mast, when Ike Denman
approached and said:

"Come aft, Ballard, I've a few words to exchange with you."

The detective obeyed with alacrity; coming to a halt near the
cabin-way, Denman said:

"Ballard, you have proved yourself a good hand. I like you,
but I've a statement to make; you can't share in the profits
of to-night's work unless you become one of us."

"How's that, sir?"

"We are a regular organization; the crew of this boat is bound
to secrecy by oaths and obligations, and I am about to give
you the privilege of becoming one of us."

"The detective realized his peril. He saw that the game had
opened, that Renie's warnings were about to be fulfilled but
he was cool and easy and determined. It was a terrible
moment, but he was as resolute as ever and replied:

"That wasn't in the programme, captain."

"What wasn't in the programme?"

"It wasn't stated that I was to take any oaths or obligations."

"I'll admit that, but it's necessary."

"You ought to have told me before I came with you on this
trip."

"That is so, but I didn't; but you have come with us; you are
here in our midst, you are posted as to our game, and now what
are you going to do about it, Ballard?"

CHAPTER XIX.

"I am not prepared to answer at present. I must have time to
think," was the answer made by our hero.

"What at do you want to think about?" demanded Denman.

"I wish to consider whether or not it will pay me to become a
permanent member of your crew."

"You disappoint me, Ballard."

"How so?"

"I've given you a good chance, and I expected you would say
all right at a jump. I've something to tell you; suspicions
are aroused concerning you. I don't believe, myself, they are
just, and I hope you will make good my conclusions."

"Suspicions concerning me?"

"Yes."

"Who suspects me?"

"One of the crew says you are a spy."

"Will you bring the man face to face with me?"

"What would you do?"

"When I meet my accuser I will tell you."