Near daybreak, the surgeon, who had separated from Leonard and Mr. Stark, came to them, and said:
“There is a sick man below, who does not seem to be one of the smugglers. I haven’t asked him any questions yet, but his appearance indicates that he is a prisoner, rather than one of the gang. Will you come and see him?”
Leonard and the detective followed the surgeon, and, as they entered the dimly lighted apartment, heard the groans and ravings of one in the delirium of a high fever.
They stepped to the side of the sufferer. Leonard Lester gazed at the flushed face and tossing form but a mere instant, and then, bending forward eagerly, he ejaculated, in extreme amazement:
“Great Heaven! it is Carlos!”
“What!” exclaimed Mr. Stark. “Your cousin?”
“Yes, it is my cousin, Carlos Conrad. But how, in the name of all the powers, above and below, did he come here?”
“It is indeed a mystery,” said Mr. Stark. “And he is very ill.”
“Yes, he has a raging fever. Can you tell what is the matter with him, doctor?” turning to the surgeon.
“I can tell better when we arrive in Boston, and get him on a clean bed in a good room. Meanwhile, I will do what I can for him here. But he is a sick man, there is no doubt about that.”