The captain had had an occasional argument with the police of San Juan, as he had in many other ports, on account of doubtful cargoes. He did not care for the police on general principles, therefore. As this man in the boat, who looked like a lieutenant in undress uniform, questioned him, he tried to think of anything he had done against the law in Porto Rico the last time he had been there. The man in the boat did not give him much time to think, however. He told his men to row up to the ladder and make fast. They hardly had had time to obey, when he stepped out of the boat, and with one hand touching the hand rope lightly, as if he did not need its help, mounted to the deck. His eyes seemed to take in everything at a glance, including the crew and captain. He touched Lawton on the elbow in a peremptory way. “Take me to your cabin. I want a word with you,” he snapped. “There is my card.” He thrust the card into Lawton’s hand, and pointed, with an offhand gesture, to the companionway. The captain read the words on the card with anything but a comfortable feeling. They were: “Detective Lieutenant Sawyer, New York City.” That was all, but it was more than enough for the skipper of the _Cherokee_. He did not know that he ever had seen a detective’s card before, but he supposed this was the regular formula. Only a few moments previously, Captain Lawton had been anxious to get to the police, to complain about the loss of his six hundred dollars. Now that there was a detective at his elbow--probably a good one--he felt nervous. His own record was not clean, and he feared that this stern-mannered Sawyer might know more than would be healthful for him. When they reached the cabin, the detective shrugged his shoulders as he glanced about him. “Lost anything?” he snapped. “Looks as if you’d been making a search down here.” “I’ve lost six hundred dollars.” “Stolen?” “Yes.” “Some of the crew?” “One of ’em. A man I signed on in New York, just to help him out. He was flat broke. This is what he did to me in return. Came down here and looted the cabin. But I’ll get him! I’ll sure get him! If he’s anywhere in Porto Rico, I’ll get him.” “Don’t you think he was drowned?” “No. Some of the crew saw him swimming, and he was headed for shore. It was early morning, and not light. That gave him a chance to get away, and he made the shore all right, no doubt.” “You only think that, don’t you? You are not sure?” “Sure enough to satisfy me,” growled Lawton. “In fact----” “Well, that’s no business of mine,” interrupted Sawyer. “I want you to answer a few questions.” The imperative manner of this man from police headquarters, New York, awed Captain Bill Lawton, in spite of himself, and he prepared to tell anything that might be asked of him. “All right, lieutenant,” he grunted. “Have you a passenger on board named Miles?” “Yes.” “Where is he?” “In his stateroom, I believe. He went in there a while ago, and I have not seen him on deck since.”