“Those fellows will be giving their agricultural machinery to the mermaids to cultivate seaweed with the first thing they know,” grinned Herc. “Agricultural machinery nothing!” snapped Stanley sharply. “Do you know what’s in that box, boys?” “What it says, I suppose,” rejoined Ned. “Not much. That box there and those others as well, I’ll bet, are full of machine guns!” was the startling reply. “How do you know?” “I’ve seen too many for my eyesight to fool me. I’d know any part of one a mile off, even if I only spied it through a busted box.” As the boys’ elder spoke, a man who had been down in the launch superintending the stowage of the boxes, clambered up over the stringpiece. Angry words were on his lips, but as his eyes fell on the boys they quickly died away, and, without uttering a sound, he sank back again. Had the boys, in their interested scrutiny of the boxes, been able to spare a moment to observe the man who had, in such jack-in-the-box fashion appeared and disappeared, they would have been strongly interested, for the fellow was Jules Charbonde, late of New York, but who had arrived that morning on the mail boat together with the “agricultural machinery for his rancho in the hills.” “Lie low!” he exclaimed to a companion who shared the close quarters of the launch with him, “they’re up there.” “They--who?” inquired a harsh voice, whose owner was about to raise himself up and peer over the edge of the wharf, when he was violently pulled back by Charbonde. “You idiot!” exclaimed the South American, “now that everything is settled, the custom-house inspectors bribed, and the stevedores muzzled by gold, would you go and spoil it all?” “No harm in taking a peek is there?” growled Hank Harkins, for he was Charbonde’s companion. He had traveled down as the other’s valet, a role which he by no means liked filling, but the pay Charbonde gave appealed to him, and, of course, so far as actual valet work was concerned, Hank was only required to assume the role without the duties. Charbonde’s acute mind had realized that having a former American sailor in his pay might come in handy. Senor Charbonde was not a man to overlook any detail, and he had, therefore, retained Hank. “Yes, there is every harm in taking a peek, as you call it,” raged Charbonde. “It might spoil everything if they were to see you.” Hank grumbled, but said nothing. Presently Charbonde addressed him once more while the stevedores above got ready a new rope. “You have arranged everything for communication with the _Beale_?” “Yes, a fishing boat will put off this evening, and the man who sails her will bring back a note.” “Good! You did not waste your time in Brooklyn.” “I should say not! I’ve got a first-class man for us, too. He’ll stick at nothing to get money. You see, he needs it badly.” “Better and better,” said Charbonde, rubbing his hands. “I see you have ability.” “You bet I have,” rejoined Hank modestly. “All I need is a chance to bring it out.”