tors had revolvers, but the racetrack man's weapon was chosen
because he had obtained it from a source to which it could not be
traced. Down went the stoker, his bare feet clinging to the gently
swaying side of the ship.

The porthole was open, and there in the dim interior of the cabin the
light was reflected from a pair of spectacles. There, too, were the
whiskers and gray hair. The old man seemed to be asleep in his chair
right near the porthole. The stoker cocked his revolver and held it
ready for instant action.

The steamer's fog horn blew a blast at the fast thinning fog. This
noise was just what the stoker wanted. He quickly plunged his pistol
into the porthole and fired it point blank in the very face of the old
man. There could be no question of missing. He looked up at the three
eager faces and nodded that all was well.

"I've got him," he called out, and was about to hurl the pistol into
the stateroom when an unpleasant and unexpected thing happened. A
brawny fist shot out of the porthole and collided with the stoker's
coal-blackened jaw.

More from surprise than the force of the blow, the stoker fell backward
into the sea. The three watchers on deck saw the proceeding, and only
one, the "pirate," had presence of mind to hurl a lifebuoy. No alarm
was sounded. The steamer went on into the sparkling morning sea,
leaving behind her a profane and disgusted stoker. This unfortunate
had only a lifebuoy to aid him on a fifteen-mile swim to shore.

"Never mind," said the "pirate" after the conspirators had gotten over
their first fright at the dashing of their plans. "I have an idea;
it's a corking idea, and you'll all like it."

"What is it?" asked Owen nervously. "Here is your drink now; what's
your idea?"

But the "pirate" wouldn't tell. He objected that it was too startling
for them to carry in their timid brains. He would unfold it when the
time came, and he promised them that it would be the greatest and most
daring project they had ever heard. A murderous glare lit up the faded
eyes and he chuckled to himself, but no offers nor threats would induce
him to part with his secret.

CHAPTER VII

A FLIRTY BUCCANEER

Arrived at Nassua, the party proceeded to the King Edward House, where
Pauline found a telegram from Philip Carpenter, the lawyer, advising
her to return as soon as possible to attend the signing of certain
important papers. On account of the message all hands ma