“All right! You’ll be paid for any trouble you have to take, of course. I’ll take this stuff ashore to my hotel, and keep it until I get instructions from New York.” “I’ll be glad to see it off my ship,” declared Captain Lawton. “If you like, I’ll send a couple of men ashore with you, to help you guard the stuff till you put it away. I suppose you’ll stow it in the hotel safe.” “Yes,” answered Rayne carelessly. “That will be the best place for it. Meantime, I can look after it myself. You will hear from me some time during the day.” He took the suit case in his hand, and, with a grim smile under his heavy mustache, walked to the companionway and up to the deck. His impulse was to make a rush for his boat. But the Apache had too much control of himself to yield to such an inclination. Instead, he sauntered over to the head of the sea ladder and shouted to his two oarsmen. “Aye, aye, sir!” responded one of them, as they brought the craft up to the small platform at the foot of the ladder. “All right, sir!” With a slow and dignified step, John Garrison Rayne went down the ladder. At the foot of it he stopped to wave a farewell to Captain Lawton, who, with his first mate, Van Cross, was at the top. Then he stepped into his boat and sat down in the stern, the valuable suit case between his knees. No sooner had the men got the boat clear of the steamer than Rayne leaned forward and told them to hurry with all their might. “It will be half a dollar extra for each of you if you put me ashore inside of fifteen minutes,” he told them. “I have to meet a gentleman who is going away on the train. Hurry!” “Aye, aye, sir!” came in chorus from both of the oarsmen. The promise of a tip has just as potent an effect in Porto Rico as it has in any other part of the world. They rowed with savage eagerness, and promised to get to shore in twelve minutes. As the yawl cut its way through the heaving waters, John Garrison Rayne mused over his good luck. He hugged the suit case between his knees, and tried to decide on his next move. “It was dead easy!” he muttered. “All I had to do was to get rid of that gray wig, put on the mustache, and buy the clothes I wanted out of the captain’s six hundred. Then I stepped into this boat, went up to the _Cherokee_, clapped handcuffs on Paul Clayton, picked up the suit case--after making sure it had the things in it--and quietly rowed away. Why, it was like taking candy from a baby.” He chuckled so loudly that both of his oarsmen looked quickly at him in astonishment. He recovered himself immediately, and frowning severely at them, told them to pull harder. It was just as he administered this rebuke to his men that he glanced over to the left, where a motor boat was chugging its way across the harbor. There were three men in it. At first they were too far away for him to make out who they were. Then, as the morning sun fell full upon their faces, he recognized them. They were Nick Carter, Chick, and Patsy Garvan!