e appeared on the after-deck, and
sauntered up and down for a few minutes. There were several other male
passengers still awake, and with these the two men exchanged a few
words.

"Will you come with us for a stroll on the beach?" said Pinkerton to a
sleepy man who was lying on the skylight.

"No jolly fear; I'm too comfy as I am, and I know what the mosquitoes
are on Cook town beach."

Cheyne made some laughing rejoinder, and then he; and his companion went
to the gangway and walked leisurely along the jetty. An hour or so later
they returned, and settled themselves comfortably with pillows on one of
the long deck seats.

In state-room No. 16 Forreste and Capel were conversing in angry,
whispered tones.

"How was I to know that he hadn't taken your cursed dose?" snarled the
Jew; "and what else could I do but settle him when he awoke? Anyway, we
have nothing to be afraid of. We have got the stuff, and by this time
Pinky and Cheyne have it safely planted, and there will be no evidence
to connect us with the job. Curse you! what are you funking it for?
We'll be on shore at five o'clock, the steamer leaves at six, and the
purser is never called until seven; and when he is called and doesn't
answer, they won't break open his door for at least two or three hours.
And by this time he has fifty tons of coal on top of him, and there's
more coming down every minute. Listen!"

Forreste, criminal as he was, was not so callous as Green, and shuddered
as he heard the coals rattling down into the bunkers.

"Was he quite dead when you dropped him down into the bunker?" he asked,
as with shaking hand, he poured some whisky into a tumbler.

"Dead as you will be some day, you white-livered cur!" said the Jew with
savage contempt. Then opening the port, he dropped Pinkerton's burglar's
tools over into the water. "There! there goes Pinky's kit. All we have
to do now is to go on deck--you to blarney with the women, who are
awake, and me to play the interesting invalid who was subjected to a
violent and unprovoked attack," and he leered evilly.

CHAPTER XXIII

"Well, Lizzie, how does the Ocho Rios country strike you?" and Gerrard
pulled up his horse under the grateful shade of a great Leichhardt tree
standing on the bank of a clear, sandy-bottomed creek.

"I think it is beautiful, Tom, almost tropical, especially anywhere near
the sea," and Mrs Westonley jumped lightly from her horse. "Are we going
to spell here for awhil