Glancing up and down the street, Tim saw that he was alone. He lowered the cook from his shoulders and laid him on the walk under the light. Then he raced down the street toward a cluster of lights several blocks away, where he was fortunate enough to find a night patrolman on duty there and the officer summoned an ambulance. When the ambulance reached the lonely street, they bundled the cook aboard and Tim climbed up in the front seat beside the driver while the interne rode inside. It was after midnight before the cook regained consciousness and another two hours before he was strong enough to see Tim. When the flying reporter entered the hospital room the cook looked out at him from beneath a mass of bandages. "He's got lots of endurance," said the doctor on duty, "or he wouldn't have been able to live through the terrific beating he got. Don't talk to him any longer than necessary." Tim sat down by the bed. "Tell me what happened, Al." The cook's voice was little more than a whisper and Tim leaned over to catch the words. "I was on my way back to the wharf, when they ganged me and dragged me into a deserted warehouse." Even one sentence had visibly sapped his strength and the cook rested before continuing. "They wanted to know our destination. When I wouldn't tell them they beat me." Tim's eyes blazed with anger. There was no question in his mind who the "they" Al was referring to meant. It was the boatload of ruffians he and Pat had seen rowing in from the open sea. Undoubtedly they were from the _Iron Mate_, Sladek's ship. "I went almost crazy with the pain." There was a choked sob in the cook's voice. "They burned the bottom of my feet with cigarettes." There was a long pause and Tim waited patiently, wondering whether Al Hardy had finally given away the secret of their destination. "They were going to kill me," the cook went on, each word an obvious effort. "Finally, finally I told them it was an island off the coast of Yucatan, but no one but the commander knew what one." "Did they believe you?" asked Tim. "They must have. That's all I remember until I came to in the hospital. I'm sorry I talked." "Don't worry about that, Al," said Tim, gripping the cook's hand firmly. "Any of the rest of us would have talked a lot sooner. I'm going to leave you now. I've got to contact the _S-18_ with the seaplane in the morning. I've made arrangements for them to take good care of you here. By the time you're well we'll be on our way back and you'll have a good share of the treasure." Before leaving the the floor, Tim stopped at the desk. "Just how badly is he injured?" he asked the doctor. "An average man would die from shock, but he looks like he has a fine constitution. I believe he'll pull through." "See that he has everything he needs," said Tim. "In case of an emergency you can communicate with Commander Ford's representative in New York for further instructions."