They looked at her in surprise. They were so engrossed in their discovery that they had eyes for nothing else. Walker straightway plunged the sausage-shaped gray stick into the water again. “What are you doing with that dynamite?” she demanded. “Do you intend to visit the Valley of the Golden Sands? If so, please take me. I am very poor.” It was Courtenay who answered. “Are you alone?” he asked. “Mr. Boyle is in the chart-house.” “I know; but is any one else up there?” “No.” “Then we shall join you at once.” Notwithstanding the serious demeanor of the men, Elsie was far from guessing what had happened. But she was soon enlightened. “In which bunker was the coal placed which we shipped at Valparaiso?” Courtenay asked Boyle. “In the forrard cross bunker,” was the instant answer. “And that was the first coal used in the furnaces?” “Yes, sir.” The captain’s tone was official, exceedingly so, and the chief officer took the cue from his superior in rank. “Did we get up steam with it?” “There might have been a hundred-weight or two lying loose in the stoke-hold, but, for all practical purposes, we have used nothing but the Valparaiso bunker since we left port.” “The rest of our coal was shipped at Coronel?” “Yes, sir.” “You hear? It is exactly as I have told you,” said Courtenay, glancing at the others. “I must explain to you, Mr. Boyle, that I wished you to state the facts in front of witnesses before I gave you my reasons for cross-examining you on the matter. Mr. Walker and I have been certain, all along, that the furnaces were blown up wilfully. Now our suspicions are proved. This morning, after a careful scrutiny, we came across a number of lumps of coal cleverly constructed out of small pieces glued together. In the center of each lump was a stick of dynamite, protected by an asbestos wrapper. It was undoubtedly the intent of some miscreant that a number of these lumps should be fed into the furnaces. This actually occurred, as we know, but, by the mercy of Providence, the ship did not experience the full power of the explosion, or she must have sunk like a stone.” “Huh,” grunted Boyle. “Who holds the insurance?” “The shippers of the cargo, of course—Messrs. Baring, Thompson & Miguel.” “Worth a quarter of a million sterling, ain’t it?” “Yes.” “Huh, it’s a lot of money.” There was a momentary silence. Elsie’s eyes grew larger, and she became rather pale. As was her habit when puzzled, she placed a finger on her lips. Christobal noted her action. Indeed, he missed few of her characteristic habits or expressions. He laughed quietly. “I think you are quite right, Miss Maxwell,” he said. “This is one of the many instances in which silence is golden.” Taken by surprise, she blushed and dropped her hand. But Courtenay said promptly: