ve been very careful of him. I guess they were afraid that
someone might get wise. But there couldn't very well be any leak, there.
One of those Englishmen has been with him every minute since he was
engaged."

"They say he's pretty good. Who is he?"

"A Servian, he says, and his name sounds as if it might be so."

The voices trailed off. It was only a scrap of conversation, but Kennedy
had not missed a word of it.

"That means Petzka," he nodded to me.

"What is he--a Hungarian or a Servian?" I asked quickly.

Kennedy had craned his neck out beyond the corner of the bath-houses and
was looking at the _Furious_ in the basin.

"Come on, Walter," he whispered, not taking time to answer my question.
"Those fellows have gone. There's no one at all on this side of the
basin and I just saw the men on deck go up the gangplank to the
boat-house. They can't do any more than put us off, anyhow."

He had watched his chance well. As quickly as we could, burdened down by
our two heavy packages, we managed to slip across the boardwalk to the
piling that formed that side of the basin. The _Furious_ had swung over
with the tide nearer our side than the other. It was a daring leap, but
he made it as lightly as a cat, landing on the deck. I passed over the
packages to him and followed.

Kennedy scarcely paused to glance about. He had chosen a moment when no
one was looking, and, bending down under the weight of the packages we
dodged back of a cabin. A dim light shining into the hold told us that
no one was there and we dived down. It was the work of a moment to
secrete ourselves in the blank darkness behind a pile of boxes, aft.

A noise startled us. Someone was coming down the steep, ladder-like
stairs. A moment later we heard another noise. There were two of them,
moving about among the boxes. From our hiding place we could overhear
them talking in hoarse whispers, but could not see them.

"Where did you put them?" asked a voice.

"In every package of explosives and in as many of the boxes of canned
goods as I had time. There wasn't much opportunity except while the
stuff was in the boat-house."

I looked at Kennedy, wild-eyed. Was there treachery in the crew? He was
leaning forward as much as our cramped quarters would permit, so as not
to miss a word.

"All right," said the other voice. "No one suspects?"

"No. But the Secret Service has been pretty busy. They suspect
something--but not this."

"Good. You are sur