e a snake
in the grass and with a big knife, then I get suspicious, and I want
to know more about them."

"Well, you won't know anything more about me!" snarled the fellow.
"And it will be the worse for you, if you don't let me go. You'd
better!" he threatened.

"Don't pay any attention to him, Koku," said Tom. "Maybe you'd
better tie him up. You'll find some rope in the motor room."

"Don't you dare tie me up!" blustered the prisoner.

"Go ahead and tie him," went on Tom. "You'll be free to guard the
ship then. I'll go for Ned and Mr. Damon."

"Tie who up? What's the matter?" asked a voice, and a moment later
the government agent came along the woodland path on his horse.
"What's up, Tom? Have you captured a wild animal?"

"Not exactly a wild animal. Mr. Whitford. But a wild man. I'm glad
you came along. Koku has a prisoner." And Tom proceeded to relate
what had happened.

"Sneaking up on you with a knife; eh? I guess he meant business all
right, and bad business, too," said Mr. Whitford. "Let me get a look
at him, Tom," for Koku had taken his prisoner to the engine room,
and there, amid a storm of protests and after a futile struggle on
the part of the fellow, had tied him securely.

Tom and the custom officer went in to look at the man, just as Ned
and Mr. Damon came back from their stroll in the woods. It was
rapidly getting dusk, and was almost time for the start of the usual
flight, to see if any trace could be had of the smugglers.

"There he is," said Tom, waving his hand toward the bound man who
sat in a chair in one corner of the motor room. The young inventor
switched on the light, and a moment later Mr. Whitford exclaimed:

"Great Scott! It's Ike Shafton!"

"Do you know him?" asked Tom eagerly.

"Know him? I should say I did! Why he's the man who pretended to
give one of my men information about smugglers that drew us off on
the false scent. He pretended to be for the government, and, all the
while, he was in with the smugglers! Know him? I should say I did!"

A queer change had come over the prisoner at the sight of Mr.
Whitford. No longer was Shafton surly and blustering. Instead he
seemed to slink down in his chair, bound as he was, as if trying to
get out of sight.

"Why did you play double?" demanded the government agent, striding
over to him.

"I--I--don't hit me!" whined Shafton.

"Hit you! I'm not going to hit you!" exclaimed Mr. Whitford, "but
I'm going to search you, and then