Benton had looked up the old diver that he had previously spoken about to the boys, and had little difficulty in getting him to agree to give the boys practical lessons in his profession. So thoroughly did he do his part that in a little while the boys became proficient enough to feel that they could get along reasonably well in the shallow waters in which they supposed the wreck to be lying.
Of course the old fellow who instructed them was somewhat curious, but he was being well paid for his trouble, and was not in the habit of worrying much about other people’s plans. By the time the craft was provisioned and in shape for the voyage, the boys felt at home in the greenish depths and were looking forward impatiently to the time when they could put their newly acquired knowledge to use.
At length all was in readiness, and when they went ashore one night their eyes were shining with excitement, for with the dawn they were to start on the voyage after the treasure. But as they left the dock and walked toward the hotel, first one and then another became uneasy, for no apparent reason. Phil especially felt unmistakably the impression of being followed, and more than once he glanced uneasily over his shoulder.
They were in a poor section of the town, the narrow streets being lighted only at rare intervals by a flickering oil lamp. Not a soul was to be seen following them, but nevertheless the feeling of being dogged clung to them, and refused to be shaken off. At length Phil’s keen eyes made out a skulking figure just diving into a black patch of shadow, and at his warning word they all stopped.
“If you’re sure you saw someone following us, we’ll turn back and see who it was,” said Benton, and, suiting the action to the word, he started for the black shadow at top speed, the others close at his heels. But he had hardly gone ten steps, when something-whizzed past his head and struck with a sharp ring against the wall of a house that he was passing. At the same time could be heard the swift beat of retreating footsteps, and Benton pulled up short.
“No use chasing the fellow,” he said. “In these dark alleys we’d never find him, and likely enough we’d get a knife through our ribs for our trouble. That was a knife that fellow threw, and it just grazed my head.”
He groped on the ground, and presently found the knife. It was long and deadly sharp, and on the handle were two initials—“P. R.”
“It doesn’t require much guessing to tell whom that knife belongs to,” said Benton, grimly. “Those initials stand for Pasquale Ramirez, the murdering hound!”
“No doubt of it,” agreed Phil, soberly. “You had a narrow escape, Jack. The sooner we get out of this town and on the clean blue ocean the better I’ll like it.”
“Well, it won’t be long now, thank goodness!” said Dick. “To-morrow we sail for the Spanish Main, and leave that dirty halfbreed here. This town seems just made for sneaking dogs like him.”