The saturnine skipper gave vent to a husky “Haw-haw!” at his own joke, and Van Cross joined in with an equally raucous guffaw. Nick Carter was the only person on board the _Cherokee_ who thought of a certain possibility which would attach more importance to the falling off the vessel of the man than its commander had supposed. “Patsy!” whispered Nick. “Go to Mr. Clayton’s cabin and see if that suit case of his, containing the Reed jewelry, is safe.” “I can’t see it unless Clayton is there,” objected Patsy. “Naturally. But he is there. I saw him go down just now. You may tell him I sent you to inquire.” “Who shall I say? Sykes?” “Of course. I have no other name on the _Cherokee_.” As Patsy Garvan disappeared to obey his chief, although without understanding what it all meant, Nick Carter beckoned to Chick, and the two went down a forward hatch. “What’s the idea, chief?” asked Chick. “I want to see that the prisoners are secure, Chick. It has always been difficult to keep John Garrison Rayne behind the bars--except when he is inside the stone walls of a State’s prison--and I have not much faith in the place they have him in on the _Cherokee_.” “The same about his man French, I suppose?” “French is an insignificant scoundrel,” returned Nick. “He is entirely under Rayne’s influence. I dare say he regrets that he ever was persuaded to come on this ship--to act as assistant engineer and to do what he could toward robbing Clayton of the Reed jewelry.” “The whole case strikes me as curious,” observed Chick. “To begin with, the robbery of Stephen Reed was traced directly to Paul Clayton, the passenger they call Miles.” “I know, Chick. But I don’t want that talked about.” “Nobody’s talking about it,” rejoined Chick. “Except to you. Of course, I think enough of Clayton--and his sweetheart, Lethia Ford--to be glad you are letting him go. But that isn’t all. If there should be any hitch about the delivery of the loot to Stephen Reed, it might put you in a bad position.” Chick spoke with a gravity and directness that no one else would have ventured on with Nick Carter. But as the principal assistant of the great detective he had gained the right to advise with his chief, and the latter valued his counsel. “There will not be any hitch,” answered Nick positively. “Paul Clayton has kept a constant eye on his suit case ever since we got it away from Rayne the other day.” “Rayne nearly had it, in the engine room, that time,” remarked Chick, with a shrug. “I cannot admit that,” was the detective’s quick negative. “He had stolen the suit case, jewelry and all, from Clayton’s stateroom, it is true. Also, he had stowed it away in the engine room. But, unless he got it off the ship, of what use could it ever have been to him?” Chick shook his head dubiously. “He’s as cunning as any old-time Indian, and you can’t tell what he might have done. No wonder they call him the Apache.”