ipation was the promised arrival of the yacht's captain from Newport News.
About four o'clock, this person, Williams by name, arrived in an auto. Hardy was summoned at once to meet him, and, with the group gathered about, the new arrival first insisted on pumping everyone present for details concerning the apprehension of Blanco, and then told his story, or at least as much as he was at liberty to reveal.
The substance of his revelations was about as follows:
"When that fellow was taken on at Newport News, I didn't like his looks from the start, but the Commodore was clean taken in by his Spanish talk and, as the occasion was a pressing one, he thought he'd be an invaluable man. He was good at the typewriter, too, and seemed to have picked up right smart education. Had letters of recommendation that I reckon were faked. You know, the Commodore wanted to get hold of oil lands down there in Mexico and there were other companies trying to beat him to it. Now, it turns out that this Blanco, or Perkins—if your friend Buffum is right—or whatever else his name was
