“Nothing whatever. I only feel sure that the Cuban is at work, trying to checkmate us; and, of course, I suspect. Now, I want your help.”
“Of course,” replied Dutch, both speaking more freely, for the attention of all was taken up now with the scene being enacted in the bows of the swift craft. “I feel sure that you must be right; but I have had so much to think of that these things did not trouble me. He must have started, and will get there before us.”
“I don’t think that possible,” said the captain, “but I have thought so.”
“But suppose that he has some of his men on board, scoundrels in his own pay.”
“That is far more likely,” said the captain; “and that is why I am so careful.”
“Of course, that must be it,” exclaimed Dutch. “The villain! He bribed your crew to desert, and has supplied others—his own miscreants.”
“That is one thing I suspect.”
“That last party there—the mulatto and the black.”
“That is the most natural supposition at the first blush; but the men are all strangers, and for this very reason I am half disposed to think it was the first lot. One is so disposed to judge wrongly.”
“You are right,” said Dutch, thoughtfully, “and we have no common plotter to deal with. You remember the man who wanted to hide an important letter from the French spies?”