he other's glance, the last couple of words dragged.

Brown-skinned this fisherman might be, but the dark eyes were keen and
appraising. Stuart, who was no fool, realized that his new host--or, was
it captor?--was more than he seemed. At the same time, the boy
remembered that he was in rags and that his own skin was stained brown.
Yet the fisherman answered his question courteously.

"Does not the young Senor know him? Senor Cecil is an Englishman, and
wealthy."

"But what does he do?" persisted Stuart.

The other shrugged his shoulders.

"Can anyone tell what wealthy Englishmen do?" he queried. "They are all
a little mad."

The boy held his tongue. This evasive reply was evidence enough that he
would not secure any information by questioning. Also, Stuart realized
that anyone whom the Englishman trusted was not likely to be
loose-mouthed.

"Senor Cecil said you were an American," the fisherman continued, "he
meant by that----"

"Probably he meant that he knew I'd like to get this brown off my skin,"
declared Stuart, realizing that his disguise was unavailing now. "Have
you any soap-weed root?"

The Cuban bent his head and motioned the boy to enter the hut. It was
small and clean, but did not have the atmosphere of use. Stuart guessed
that probably it was only employed as a blind and wondered how his host
had come to know of the arrival of the motor boat. Then, remembering
that the sound of the motor boat's engine had been heard for several
moments, as it departed from the cove, he thought that perhaps the noise
of the "chug-chug" would be a sufficient signal of its coming, for,
surely, no other motor boats would have any reason for entering so
hidden a place.

"If the young Senor will add a few drops from this bottle to the water,"
commented his host, "the stain will come out quicker."

Stuart stared at the man. The suggestion added to the strangeness of the
situation. The presence of chemicals in a fisherman's hut tallied with
the boy's general idea that this man must hold a post of some
importance in the plot. But he made no comment.

While he was scrubbing himself thoroughly, so that his skin might show
white once more, the fisherman prepared a simple but hearty meal. His
ablutions over, Stuart sat down to the table with great readiness, for,
though he had joined Cecil in a cold snack on the motor boat, the boy
had passed through thirty-six hours of the most trying excitement, since
his departure fro