"Ungrateful wretch!" cries Ashley in mock reproach. "I admit that I got you into the scrape, but I also got you out of it. The fiery El Terredo would have strung you to a telegraph pole had I not begged for your life and liberty. Yes; Don Carlos was a woman, and she was Helen Hathaway."
"Then El Terredo?" marvels the detective, who is beginning to see daylight.
"Was Derrick Ames, of course. Anyone except a detective would have discovered that long ago."
"Indeed," retorts Barker. "When did you find it out?"
"Early this morning," laughs Ashley. "But let us be serious. Where are the Feltons, father and son?"
"One dead, and the other perhaps so," replies Barker, and he tells Ashley the story of an exciting day at Santiago.
"It must be done," the detective is saying, concluding his narrative. "Your sympathies naturally stand in the way, so I will relieve you of all active participation in the affair. All you will have to do is to be a silent witness. One thing you must do, though. You must see Mrs. Ames and have her pledge that she will not let her husband know that she has told you her story. I must handle the affair gently, as Ames is as flashy as gunpowder. You will see Helen, then?"
"Yes; I will fix it immediately. When do you occupy the center of the stage?"
"To-morrow. I will let you know in due season."
"All right, old chap. I will be glad when it is all over. So long."
There are many happy hearts on the America this night. The meeting between the sisters, Helen and Louise, was a dramatic one, and after affectionate confidences had been exchanged each sought the man she loved best.
But a shadow of sadness hovers about the four as they sit on the quarter-deck and watch the big white moon rise out of the sea. Now that all the excitement is over Van Zandt has dropped back into his old reserve, and the consciousness of his odd relations to Louise Hatha-
