Willie closed his eyes and thought. In his mind he reviewed every movement he had made since Willie first saw him. That wonderful, photographic quality of mind stood him in good stead. He could see Simonski’s every move. He thought of him as he had first seen him, immediately after he, Willie, had peeped at Simonski’s baggage in his stateroom. He could see the fellow plainly, moving about the ship, with his little cane swinging jauntily from his arm. He saw him unlocking his trunk, with the cane lying on the pier before him. He saw him once more, the cane at his feet, repacking the trunk. Again he visualized him, as he turned away to go to the ship to be searched, apparently too indignant to hear the cabin boy’s proffer to relieve him of his cane. Then he saw the search—the cane laid carefully in the back of the bunk, and the man pulling off his shoes, as he sat in front of it. It was queer how that cane seemed to stick out in every picture. Suddenly Willie leaped to his feet. “The diamonds are in the cane,” he cried. “That’s why he was so careful of it. He didn’t care a rap about anything else. But he guarded that cane like grim death.” He darted out of the stateroom. The inspector and Simonski were just disappearing down the corridor. “Hold that man,” he cried. “Don’t let him get off the ship. I know where his diamonds are.” Both men turned sharp about. “Hold on a moment,” said the inspector to Simonski. “I am tired of this monkey business,” said Simonski. “You’ve searched me. There’s nothing dutiable on me. You have no right to keep me any longer.” And he turned and hurried toward the gangway. A sudden anger seemed to take possession of him. “Stop him!” cried Willie. “The diamonds are in his cane.” The inspector leaped to the side of Simonski. “Stop!” he said. “Don’t you touch me,” rejoined Simonski. His eyes glittered like a snake’s. The inspector grabbed him. Simonski tried to wrench loose. They clutched each other savagely. The little cane was caught between their swaying bodies. Suddenly it broke in half with a snap like a pistol. Then the pieces clattered to the floor. Willie rushed forward and picked them up. The cane was hollow. Something white showed within it. Willie thrust a match down into the hollow and worked the white thing out. It was cotton. Wrapped within it, in a long, thin roll, was diamond after diamond. CHAPTER XVII AFTER THE WHISKEY SMUGGLERS When Willie reported to his Chief, that individual dropped his work and leaned back in his chair. He was smiling with satisfaction. “Well, Willie,” he said, “they telephoned down that they have at last landed that fellow Simonski, and that you had a great hand in it. Tell me what happened.” Willie told the story in detail.