hole. You sticks your
gun in and shoot the old fool. Don't forget to throw the gun in
afterward, so they'll think he killed himself. See?"

"Sure, I got yer, matey," replied a strange voice.

After this the dictograph must have got out of order as nothing further
came over the wire.

After closing the porthole Harry started to take off his disguise with
a view of revealing himself and having Owen, Hicks and the "pirate"
arrested. Then it occurred to him that he had not heard Owen or Hicks
talking and very likely they were not in the room at all.

It was probably a crazy, drunken scheme of the old sailor whom he had
tormented. Neither Owen nor Hicks had any suspicion, so far as he
knew, that behind the whiskers and eyeglasses was Harry. Owen could
have no object in shooting him.

"Can it be that I am jealous of this man Owen?" he wondered. "Polly
has been taking his advice against mine lately. What can that mean?"

Peace reigned during the evening while the old liner plunged and rolled
past wicked Cape Hatteras. While the passengers listened to the sad
orchestra in the saloon Harry, still in his whiskered disguise, sent a
wireless to a lawyer in New York requesting him to telegraph Pauline at
Nassau something that would make her come home. Then he went back to
his stateroom and locked the door.

As he stepped in he caught sight of the unbeautiful countenance of Mr.
Boyd squinting wickedly at him from far down the passageway.

"Just for that evil grin of yours, Mr. Pirate," thought Harry, "I am
not going to let you or your friend shoot me until after daylight." So
Harry kept his porthole closed tight that night, sleeping rather
restlessly without his accustomed ventilation.

Twice he heard a faint scraping sound on the outside of his cabin, and
a dark shadow eclipsed the faint nimbus of light which the foggy night
sent through his porthole. On the deck directly over his head three
dark figures sat in deck chairs, while a fourth paced the deck, his
cigar glowing like the tail lamp of a distant automobile.

The fog began to lift just before dawn, and the stoker, making another
trip down his rope, found the porthole open. A hasty inspection of the
decks indicated that it was safe to go ahead.

Owen, Hicks and the "pirate" quickly lowered the stoker, sitting in a
little swing known on the sea as a "bo'sun's chair." In his hand he
carried a pistol which Hicks had provided. Each of the three
conspira