to begin with. What about the rest of the crew?"
"The man they call Tot Dennis was signed for me by Caine. Afraid we'll have to give him to the enemy."
"Williams is a great friend of Dennis. I've seen them together a lot," Evelyn suggested.
"That's true, but Williams has sailed with me twice before. I did think I could have trusted him."
"No doubt Caine and Bothwell have been influencing him. Put Williams down doubtful."
We checked off the rest of the crew by name, but could find no evidence against any of them.
"How many can we depend upon?" Evelyn asked.
"Yeager, Mott, Morgan, Jack here, and myself. That's five to begin with," counted Blythe.
"Dugan and Alderson," I added.
"Seven. Any more?"
"Our steward. Phillips is his name."
"Sure, Miss Wallace?"
"He's the most harmless creature on earth."
The captain smiled.
"Afraid he won't be of much use to us then. We want harmful men. But count him. That makes eight for us, nine against us, six doubtful. We'll do very nicely."
"And there's the cook. He's so fat and good-natured he must be all right," Evelyn suggested.
"By Jove! I'd forgotten 'Arry 'Iggins. No, he's against us. He talked to my man Morgan."
"And I suppose his flunky, Billie Blue, goes with cookie?" I added.
"The nine against us is now eleven," the girl said quietly.
I spoke cheerfully, which is far from how I felt.
"Oh, well, what's the odds? Nine or eleven, we'll beat them."
A steamer rug lying on a lounge at the end of the room heaved itself up. From its folds emerged the red head of Jimmie, belligerently. Its owner had evidently been roused from a nap.
"Where do I get off at I'd like to know?" demanded the indignant namesake of a martyred President. "Didn't I run down his nibs for you in 'Frisco and wise you where he was staying? Didn't I find out he was aboard here? Why ain't you countin' me in?"
Blythe assented gravely, but with a twinkle in his eye.
"Our error, Jimmie. Counting you we have nine good men and true."
"One of Jimmie's strong points is that he doesn't talk. He knows how to keep his mouth shut. Don't you, Jimmie?"
"Sure thing, Mr. Sedgwick. I'm a clam, I am."
I nodded.
"Then run along and keep an eye on things outside. If you see anything suspicious, let me know at once."
"Yes, sir. You bet you." And the boy was off at the word.
"Couldn't we put back to San Diego?" Miss Wallace asked.
The captain shook his head.
"No. If I turned the ship's head they would be about our ears like rats."
"We'll have to keep on as we are going."
A sardonic smile touched Blythe's strong, lean face.
"It's Mr. Bothwell's move. If we turned back he would have to stop us; if we continue to Panama he must prevent us from going into the harbor, or his game is up."
"Then what will he do?"
"He'll move, Miss Wallace."
She looked at him, a man of quiet, contained strength, and some sort of vision of what we were to go through flitted before her mind. Her lips were gray and bloodless.
"That dreadful treasure!" she murmured. "Why did we ever come after it?"
A faint sound drew me to my feet and across the room to the stairway. A fat bulk of a man was crouched on the steps about half-way down. He scuttled to his feet at sight of me.
"Good afternoon, Higgins! Just taking a nap on the stairs, I presume," was my ironical greeting.
The color faded from his blotched face.
"No, sir, not as you might say——" He moistened his dry lips with the tip of his tongue and tried again. "Truth is, sir, Hi wanted to ask Miss Wallace what she would like for dinner."
"That's very considerate of you. And I'm sure it's the truth. You were merely resting on the way. Come on up, Higgins. That is, if you're now able to finish the journey. Or shall I help you?"
The tail of his eye had swung round to take in the lower deck. I could have sworn the man was considering making a bolt for it, but at my words he gave up the idea with a fat sigh. He came up slowly, his eyes fixed on mine as if I held them fascinated. Tiny beads of sweat stood out on his forehead. 'Arry 'Iggins was not at that moment comfortable in his mind.
"Hi strive to please, sir," he explained. "Whatever the young lady would like. Hin a manner of speakin' I'm 'er 'umble servant, very respectably, 'Arry Iggins."
He ducked his head toward her and again toward Blythe.
"Come here," the captain ordered.
Higgins shuffled reluctantly forward.
"When did you first meet this man Bothwell?"
"Beg pardon, sir. Don't think I know the gent, sir."
The Englishman's eyes pierced into his fellow-countryman like a drill.
"Don't lie to me."
The cook had recourse to a large bandanna handkerchief to mop away his perspiration.
"If you mean the stowaway, sir, Hi met 'im just before we reached Los Angeles."
"How many of the crew are with him in this mutiny?"
"Mutiny, sir?"
"I don't mince words. How many?"
"There you 'ave me, sir. S'elp me, Captain Blythe, Hi'm not in 'is confidence."
The man's painful assumption of innocence would have been pathetic had it not been ridiculous.
"I know that," retorted my friend contemptuously. "He'll use you and chuck you aside, dead or alive, whichever is most convenient. Bothwell would as soon knife his fat friend as wink. But that's not the point just now. You'll—tell—me—all—you—know—about—this—affair—at—once. Understand?"
Higgins wriggled like a trout on the hook, but he had to tell what he knew. In point of fact this was not much more than we had already learned.
"You will go back to Bothwell and tell him to start
