“He is called the Apache partly because he is so ruthless when pursuing any object,” said Nick. “Remember that. I don’t believe I ever knew another white man with quite so cruel a disposition. He neither asks nor gives quarter. I give him credit for being a fighter. Only, like the Indian warrior of thirty or forty years ago, he is not satisfied with merely overcoming his foe. He wants to torture and kill him, too. But, come on, Chick! We’ll take a look at the door of his glory hole, anyhow. I don’t suppose it was Rayne who jumped or fell overboard just now. But I want to make sure.” Chick was a few paces ahead of his chief as they turned a corner in a narrow passage, lighted by an oil lantern swinging from the ceiling, and it was Chick who exploded in a shout of astonishment and dismay. “Chief! He’s gone!” “Who?” “Rayne!” Nick Carter required only one glance at the open door of the confined space used as a prison cell on the _Cherokee_ to understand that the man who had gone overboard was really John Garrison Rayne, the international crook, known as the Apache. There were three cells in a row. When not employed as prisons they were used as storerooms for rope, spare canvas, and similar material. Now one was full of such stuff, the second was locked, and the third stood open. “Well, it doesn’t so much matter,” remarked Nick Carter, when satisfied that Rayne had got away. “Of course he dived off the ship and swam to shore. He may hang about San Juan. But most likely he will get away as soon as there is a ship sailing that suits him. We have the comfort of knowing that he failed to steal the Reed jewelry, and that is the main point, after all. Come on, Chick! We’ll go on deck.” Hardly had they got there when they heard Captain Lawton raging profanely up and down. “Six hundred dollars!” howled the skipper. “In good American money! Took it out of my locker, and had to break a lock that was strong enough for a jail door! But I’ll get the thief somehow. Mr. Cross!” Van Cross, who had been enjoying a quiet cigar, looked down from the bridge, and, in a surly tone, asked what was wanted. “Line up the whole crew and find out first who it was that went overboard,” growled Captain Lawton. “I can tell you that,” put in Nick Carter, in his character of Sykes, the boatswain. “Whoever he is, he got six hundred dollars out of my cabin!” roared the skipper. “I’ll skin him alive when I get my hands on him. Who is he?” “The passenger you shut up for’ard for trying to steal the property of the passenger you call Mr. Miles,” replied Nick. “He has got out of the brig, and he is not on the ship.” “What?” bellowed the wrathful skipper. “Do you mean to tell me that lubber has broken out? Who is he, anyhow? He says he is a business man, and he looks like it. Do you know anything about him?” “I think I do,” replied the detective. “I believe he is an ex-convict named John Garrison Rayne.”