“Nothing impossible about it,” sneered the captain. “He’s down in the cabin he’s had since we left New York. Only now it’s a cell, instead of a stateroom, and I have two of my men watching to see that he doesn’t get away. That’s all there is to it.” “How do you know this man who arrested Paul Clayton--or Miles--is a detective?” The captain held out a card, which Nick Carter took and scanned hastily. “Detective Lieutenant Sawyer!” murmured Nick, reading from the card. “I don’t know of any New York detective by that name.” “Well, anyhow, he was here, and he’s gone ashore with the stolen property, in a suit case. If you look over there, you can just make him out, landing on the wharf from a yawl.” “Gee!” whispered Patsy. “I believe that’s right. Eh, Chick?” “Looks like his walk,” returned Chick. “I wish we could make out his face. What kind of clothes do you suppose he has on? We’re going to have a fine time running him down,” was Patsy’s low-toned remark--in which there was plenty of confidence, however. Nick Carter was thinking quickly. He had seen the man getting out of the rowboat at the wharf. But it was too far to make him out for certain, and Nick had very little faith in Captain Lawton’s integrity. “I’ll go down and see the prisoner, anyhow,” he said sharply. “I don’t know whether you can,” hesitated Captain Lawton. “I have orders to keep the man safe, but nothing was said to me about allowing any one to see him.” Nick Carter turned back the lapel of his waistcoat and showed a jeweled badge. It was very seldom that he exhibited this insignia. But there were occasionally times, like the present, when it was desirable that he should prove his identity. Captain Lawton leaned forward to scan the badge. He saw that it bore the arms of New York State, and that in the center was a medallion portrait of the man who wore it. But the skipper was naturally suspicious, and he did not accept even this proof immediately--or pretended he did not. As a matter of fact, he had seen Nick Carter before, in his proper person, and he was obliged to admit to himself that this calm, self-possessed man seemed to be the same. “If that badge is straight, it is all right,” he growled. “Only I do not know that.” “Here’s my card,” said Nick impatiently, as he took one of his cards from its case. “You may see my name and address there.” “‘Nicholas Carter, Madison Avenue, New York City,’” read the captain. “It looks as if you might be the man you say you are.” “You say that this other man, who pretended he was a detective, has taken the jewels stolen from Stephen Reed, and that it was he we just now saw climbing out of a small boat at the wharf?” demanded Nick, who was tired of arguing about his own identity. “He took the jewelry,” replied, Lawton, more surly than ever. “I have not had proof that he was a fake detective any more than I know you’re a real one.”