Taking from his pocket a jackknife, he pressed a spring, and a steel rod shot forth. With this he opened the handcuffs so quickly and easily that the sailor at the door, who had been watching him, gave vent to an involuntary grunt of admiration. “I’m responsible for this,” remarked Nick, looking at the sailor. “Captain Lawton will tell you.” “Aye, aye, sir!” returned the man, as he moved away from the door. “Now we can talk more comfortably,” was the detective’s smiling suggestion. “No sense in wearing those things that I can see.” “Who are you?” faltered Paul Clayton. “You ought to know me,” returned Nick lightly. “We sailed from New York together.” He said this with the drawl he had used as Joe Sykes, and Clayton started up from the bunk in astonishment. “The bos’n?” “Exactly! But, when I use my own name, I am Nicholas Carter.” “The detective?” “Yes. But you need not speak so loudly. Don’t let us talk about that.” “But,” protested Clayton, “this is amazing.” “Never mind. Tell me what this man said who came and got the jewelry away from you.” “The New York detective?” “Yes.” Paul Clayton--still wondering, as he looked at his visitor--went over in detail all that had passed between him and John Garrison Rayne. Nick Carter compressed his lips and his brows came together over his eyes as he listened. “What a scoundrel the fellow is!” was the detective’s comment at the end. “Well, Clayton, that means that we have to go after him.” Clayton got to his feet and seemed eager to move out of the cabin without delay. “To think that I was so easily cheated of the jewels I stole----” “Not that you stole, Mr. Clayton,” interrupted Nick. “Let us say ‘the jewels you were minding for Mr. Reed.’ That sounds much better, and it is the truth, isn’t it?” “Yes, indeed it is,” assented the young man, with a wan smile of gratitude. “I took the jewelry. But I did not use any of it, and when I had got over the first madness that made me take it from my uncle’s room, I never had a thought but to return it as soon as possible.” “But you came to Porto Rico to do it?” “Because I was afraid that, if I sent the jewels back from New York, Stephen Reed would put the police on my heels. I did want a chance to begin life over again and prove that I am honest at heart,” replied Clayton pathetically. “If I were once sent to prison, I never could hold up my head again.” “Well, we will get the jewelry, and back it will go to Mr. Reed. It may be some little trouble, but I believe I can rely on you to keep at it till we round up this blackguard who has tried to fool us all.” “You are quite sure this detective was not really a detective,” asked Clayton. “He did not look to me at all like the man I knew as James Boris on this ship.” “Nevertheless, he is the same. He took the name of James Boris on this vessel. He is John Garrison Rayne, the Apache. I _know_ that.”