"Dot ain'd my guess, you bed you," palpitated Carl. "I t'ink id iss somepody asking vill ve go by der Spanish Main und hunt for birate shtuff. Vat a habbiness oof id iss!"
"You're both wrong," said Matt, a perplexed look on his face. "There has been some mistake in the telegraph office, and this message isn't for me."
"Not for you, mate?" queried Dick, picking the envelope off Matt's knee. "It's addressed plain enough—'Motor Matt, Care Snug Harbor Hotel, New Orleans.'"
"There's a different name inside," returned Matt.
"Vat id iss?" asked Carl, curiosity in a measure drawing the sting of disappointment.
"'Captain James Sixty,'" read off Matt, "'Snug Harbor Hotel, New Orleans, Louisiana.' The address is the same, but the name is different."
"Meppy der message iss for you, anyvay," persisted Carl. "Read him ofer und meppy you can dell."
"No, the message is part of the puzzle. Listen: 'In latitude twenty-eight degrees thirty minutes and twenty seconds north, longitude ninety-two degrees fourteen minutes and thirty-four seconds west two days ago. No wind and no drift since.' How could that possibly be for us, pards?"
"Id's some conuntrums, und dot's all aboudt id," grumbled Carl dejectedly. "Nodding habbens mit us more as you findt on a Suntay-school bicnic, und I'm going to ped mit meinseluf und hope for pedder t'ings in der morning. Good nighdt, bards."