ng at brief
intervals, and listening with eager curiosity to the strange sounds that
floated out on the air from the shore, where the flickering glare of
many torches could be seen.

Stretched on a mattress, the Portuguese slept like a log, without once
awakening.

Before dawn the anchors were lifted, and at the captain's suggestion Guy
hastened down to his cabin to gather up his scanty luggage, for most of
his traps had gone on to Calcutta in the Cleopatra.

He buckled on his sword, put his revolvers in his pocket, clapped his
big solar topee on his head, and then reached down for the morocco
traveling case which he had stored away for better security under his
berth.

A cry of horror burst from his lips as he dragged it out. The lock was
broken, and the sides were flapping apart. For one brief second he
stared at it like a madman, and then, with frantic haste, he fell on his
knees, and, plunging his hands inside, began to toss the contents
recklessly out upon the floor. Toilet articles, linen, cigars,
writing-paper, jewelry, and various other things piled up until his
finger nails scraped the bottom. He turned the case bottom up and shook
it savagely, shook it until the silver clasps rattled against the sides,
and then he sank back with a groan, while the drops of perspiration
chased each other down his haggard cheeks.

The precious despatches were gone.

For the time being Guy was fairly driven out of his senses by the horror
of the calamity. Ruin stared him in the face. What madness it was to
leave those papers in his cabin! He had foolishly hesitated to carry
them on his person for fear the perspiration would soak them through and
through, and now they were hopelessly lost. The cabin door had been
locked, too. The thief must have had a key.

The first shock over, his manliness asserted itself, and he took a
critical view of the situation. He hardly suspected any person as yet.
The despatches must be recovered. That was the first step.

He flew up the stairs, three at a time, and rushed panting and
breathless upon deck.

All about him was the hurry and bustle of preparation. The shore was
close at hand, and the steamer was moving toward the rude wharf. Manuel
Torres was leaning over the rail, coolly smoking a cigar. The captain
stood near by, gazing intently at the shore. He looked up with wonder as
Guy appeared, crying out in hoarse tones:

"I have been robbed, captain, treacherously robbed. Documents