“You said something about an armory.”

“Yes, there were Maxims stowed away in one of the cabins.  They aroused my suspicions.”

“They would not have aroused mine,” replied my friend.  “Yachts carry arms for protection in many cases, especially if they are going to cruise along uncivilized coasts where they must land for water or provisions.”

I told him of the torn photograph, which caused him some deep reflection.

“I wonder why the picture had been torn up.  Had there been a row on board—­a quarrel or something?”

“It had been destroyed surreptitiously, I think.”

“Pity you didn’t pocket the fragments.  We could perhaps have discovered from the photographer the identity of the original.”

“Ah!” I sighed regretfully.  “I never thought of that.  I recollect the name of the firm, however.”

“I shall have to report to London the whole occurrence, as British subjects are under suspicion,” Hutcheson said.  “We’ll see whether Scotland Yard knows anything about Hornby or Chater.  Most probably they do.  Not long ago a description of men on board a yacht was circulated from London as being a pair of well-known burglars who were cruising about in a vessel crammed with booty which they dared not get rid of.  They are, however, not the same as our friends on the Lola, for both men wanted were arrested in New Orleans about eight months ago, without their yacht, for they confessed that they had deliberately sunk it on one of the islands in the South Pacific.”

“Then these fellows might be another pair of London burglars!” I exclaimed eagerly, as the startling theory occurred to me.

“They might be.  But, of course, we can’t form any opinion until we hear what Scotland Yard has to say.  I’ll write a full report in the morning if you will give me minute descriptions of the men, as well as of the captain, Mackintosh.”

Next morning I handed over my charge of the Consulate to Frank, and then assisted him to go through the papers in the safe which had been examined by the thieves.

“The ruffians seem to have thoroughly overhauled everything,” remarked the Consul in dismay when he saw the disordered state of his papers.  “They seem to have read every one deliberately.”

“Which shows that had they been in search for the cipher-books they would only have looked for them alone,” I remarked decisively.  “What on earth could interest them in all these dry, unimportant shipping reports and things?”

“Goodness only knows,” replied my friend.  Then, calling Cavendish, a tall, fair young man, who had now recovered from his touch of fever and had returned to the Consulate, he commenced to check the number of those adhesive stamps, rather larger than ordinary postage-stamps, used in the Consular service for the registration of fees received by the Foreign Office.  The values were from sixpence to one pound, and they were kept in a portfolio.