The new complication of the theft of the Stephen Reed jewelry just when it seemed as if the troubles of Paul Clayton might be over, was bad enough. But the added fact that the Apache was posing as a detective, and might even get the police to help him, unwittingly, to get away, made it worse. Nick had gone ashore originally to look for Rayne, but had not been able to hear anything about a man answering the description of the cunning rascal. Then he had decided that he could do more effective work in behalf of Paul Clayton by dropping his disguise of Joe Sykes and cutting off all connection with the _Cherokee_ as a member of its crew. There would be nothing gained by continuing on board as a boatswain, with Captain Lawton and Van Cross giving him orders. Neither was it desirable that Chick and Patsy should be sailors, either. Having come to this decision, it had not been difficult for all three to get rid of their make-ups, and so well did they accomplish this that Captain Lawton had not the slightest suspicion they ever had been on his ship before. “Do you want to see the prisoner, Mr. Carter?” asked the captain, in a tone of respect that was rather amusing, considering how surly and insolent he had been at first. “Yes. Take me to him, please,” answered Nick. “And I should be glad if you will have a boat ready to put me ashore when I have looked over things below.” “Sure you shall have a boat,” assented the captain promptly. CHAPTER V. NICK HAS HIS OWN WAY. Two men were guarding the top of the companionway during the colloquy between Nick Carter and the captain, but, at a signal from the latter, they drew aside to allow the detective to go down to the prisoner. The man at the cabin door opened it as Nick Carter stepped forward, for he knew the detective could not have got below without special permission from the captain. Besides, he had heard enough of the argument on deck to know pretty nearly all that had taken place. Paul Clayton was sitting on the edge of his berth, his chin on his breast, and evidently in deep thought. He looked up sharply as Nick Carter went into the cabin, a question in his glance. Instinctively, he made an effort to hide the handcuffs under a blanket on the berth. Then he laughed bitterly and brought his hands forward to rest on his knees, as if defying the opinion of his visitor, whatever it might be. “I beg your pardon,” said Nick, with a smile. “I don’t suppose you want to wear these decorations any longer than you are obliged. Let me see if I can take them off.” Paul Clayton stared hard at the detective. He did not know him, now that he had removed the clothing and beard of Joe Sykes, the boatswain. But it seemed as if there were a familiar note in his voice. “May I ask----” he began. “Not just now,” interrupted Nick. “Let me look at these bracelets of yours.” One close look at the handcuffs was enough for Nick Carter.