something indescribably furtive and suspicious in the way in which this man crept along, hugging the wall and gazing straight ahead of him. A filtering ray of light struck his head for an instant and Jack saw that in the man’s ears were earrings such as Spanish sailors wear.

The next instant he saw another figure still further in advance. As it passed under a light he recognized the stocky form and unsteady gait of Captain Briggs. At the same instant it flashed across him that the man with the earrings was Baden Alvarez, the sailor who had had the tussle with the captain in which the latter was shot.

“Is he after revenge or what?” Jack wondered as he drew into a slight recess in the wall as Alvarez turned a corner and still skulked on like some wild beast stalking its prey.

“It sure looks as if there was going to be trouble,” the boy said to himself. “Guess I’ll just follow along and be handy in case of mischief. Confound it, I wish I’d brought a gun, as this Alvarez is said to be an ugly customer.”

But, after all, like most healthy American boys, Jack had no love for firearms. He preferred to use his fists when the occasion arose and he knew that at the end of each of his stout arms he had a formidable weapon.

Along the dark docks the strange trio strung their way. In the lead Captain Briggs rolled along, sometimes bawling out snatches of sea songs, behind him, and creeping closer all the time, came Alvarez and, last of all, Jack, his every muscle and sense tensed for the climax that he felt must come now at almost any instant.

Suddenly, like a wild cat, the Spaniard darted forward. He flung his lithe form on the stout captain, taking him utterly by surprise. Jack, in the little light there was, caught the gleam of an upraised knife as he dashed toward the spot where Captain Briggs was struggling with his foe.

“Help!” roared the captain, but the cry was choked back in his windpipe as the Spaniard’s long, muscular fingers closed on the seaman’s throat.

“There ees no help for you,” snarled Alvarez, “for put me in preeson I keel you. I am Catalonian; we never for-geeve or forget.”

He raised his knife high, but the next instant a violent blow caught him under the chin and gave him the impression he had been struck by a pile driver. The knife went whirling out of his hand and fell, with a metallic ring, on a cement string piece some 

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