"Mr. Felton and a lady sailed this morning for Cuba, on the City of Havana. I assume that they did. They were driven from here to the pier."
"What time does the steamer sail?" asks Barker, taking out his watch.
"Eleven o'clock."
"Too late!" grits the detective. It is even now five minutes past the hour.
For a moment Barker permits his emotions to master his self-possession, and he startles even the debonair clerk, accustomed as the latter is to the strong terms sometimes employed by irritable guests.
His feelings relieved in a measure by this unusual out-*break, the detective sits down for a moment to consider the situation. Cyrus Felton, then, is on his way to Cuba, doubtless to join his son. Mrs. Harding, a valuable quantity in the mystery, is also headed for the Antilles. Everything seems to point to Cuba. Barker picks up a railroad timetable.
"Twelve m.; Florida express for Savannah, Jacksonville and Port Tampa," he reads.
"By the gods, I'll do it!" he exclaims, as he starts for the street. "First to the pier and make sure that the steamer has gone, and, if so, then to Key West. I shall be only two hours behind the woman, and I may reach Havana ahead of Felton. Hi, there, cabby!"
CHAPTER XXVII.
THE CRUISER AMERICA.
"Jack, Mr. Ricker wants to see you," is the information
extended to Ashley when he reaches the office. He reports
at the room of the city editor, and that gentleman
informs him that he has not arrived any too soon.
"I know that I am an hour or so behind, but I have been working up a story that will make interesting read-
