related to the hi-jacker they had just before their escape been able to imprison in his own cabin.

He looked up and as the man whose back was toward them did so and made a half turn on his folding seat, all three boys started and their jaws dropped.

“Mr. Coleson!” gasped Nicky.

It was Mr. Coleson all right—the owner of the plantation where they had stayed in Jamaica.

“Hello, young fellows!” he replied briskly, swinging further around in his chair. “So you came back!”

They were still speechless with surprise.

“I’m rather glad you did,” Mr. Coleson went on. “Did you find any treasure?” He turned a grinning face to wink at Senor Ortiga who frowned heavily at the boys.

Nicky shook his head. “You know right well we didn’t!” he declared. “You sent us away to have a clear field here.”

“Nevertheless I gather that there is treasure buried in such spots,” said Mr. Coleson. “You might have found some.”

“We found something else, though,” said Nicky, fixing a meaning look upon the Spaniard.

“Liquor! Of course!” Rodriguez Ortiga agreed shortly. “How did it happen that my beloved brother didn’t put an end to you—I rather expected that he would!”

Tom was caressing his left ear rather hurriedly; Nicky, lips half open, suddenly recognized the sign of their secret call for a council, or for silence, and folded his arms.

Cliff took up the answer to Ortiga.

“Your brother,” he said, meaningly, “has a better use for us!”

Ortiga leaned back, scowling, looking sharply at the trio.

“Just what does that mean?” he demanded.

“You’ll see!” Cliff said. Ortiga pursued the inquiry but with Cliff the others remained stubbornly silent. They saw that Cliff’s plan, for some reason they did not yet grasp, was to puzzle the two men. Nicky, to get away from the subject, turned on the estate owner.

“How did you come to be on this boat?” he asked.

Mr. Coleson, smiling a little, answered readily. “Quite simple. You see, I have the maps!”

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