lded paper that looked like music stuck out of his pocket he appeared
to belong to the band.

"But it is Tuesday you arrive at Palomas!" the lady exclaimed.

"About then," the purser answered in awkward Castilian. "We may be a
little late."

"But how much late?"

"I cannot tell. Perhaps a day or two."

"At dinner the captain said----"

"Just so. But he was speaking generally without knowing all the
arrangements."

Dick could not see into the office, but heard the purser open a drawer
and shuffle some papers, as if he wanted to get rid of his questioner.

"It is necessary that I know when we arrive," the lady resumed. "If it is
not Tuesday, I must send a telegram."

The purser shut the drawer noisily, but just then a bell rang overhead
and the whistle blew to warn the visitors that they must go ashore.

"Then you must be quick," said the purser. "Write your message here and
give it to me. You need not be disturbed. We will land you at Palomas."

The lady entered the office, but Dick thought her telegram would not be
sent, and a moment later the captain's plan dawned on him. The ship would
call at the ports named, but not in the order stated, and this was why
she needed so much coal. She would probably steam first to the port
farthest off and then work backward, and the sailing list was meant to
put the raider off the track. The latter's commander, warned by spies who
would send him the list, would think he knew where to find the vessel at
any particular date, when, however, she would be somewhere else. Then
Dick wondered why the musician was hanging about, and went up to him.

"The sobrecargo's busy," he said in English. "You'll be taken to sea
unless you get up on deck."

"I no wanta el sobrecargo," the man replied in a thick, stupid voice.
"The music is thirsty; I wanta drink."

The second-class bar was farther down the alleyway, and Dick, indicating
it, turned back and made his way to the poop as fast as he could, for he
did not think the man was as drunk as he looked. He found the musicians
collecting their stands, and went up to the bandmaster.

"There's one of your men below who has been drinking too much cana," he
said. "You had better look after him."

"But they are all here," the bandmaster answered, glancing round the
poop.

"The man had a flute."

"But we have no flute-player."

"Then he must have been a passenger," said Dick, who hurried to the
gangway.

After hailing his fireman to