“But what is it?” asked Joe, curiously.

“It seems to come from Mr. Alcando’s baggage,” Blake said.  “Yes, it’s in his berth,” he went on, moving toward that side of the stateroom.  The nearer he advanced toward the sleeping place of the Spaniard the louder became the ticking.

“He’s got some sort of a clock in his bed,” Blake went on.  “He may have one of those cheap watches, though it isn’t like him to buy that kind.  Maybe he put it under his pillow and forgot to take it out.  Perhaps I’d better move it or he may not think it’s there, and toss it out on the floor.”

But when he lifted the pillow no watch was to be seen.

“That’s funny,” said Blake, musingly.  “I surely hear that ticking in this berth; don’t you?”

“Yes,” assented Joe.  “Maybe it’s mixed up in the bedclothes.”  Before Blake could interfere Joe had turned back the coverings, and there, near the foot of the berth, between the sheets, was a small brass-bound box, containing a number of metal projections.  It was from this box the ticking sound came.

“Why—­why!” gasped Blake.  “That—­that box—­”

“What about it?” asked Joe, wonderingly.

“That’s the same box that was on his table the time we came in his room at the hotel—­when we smelled the cigar smoke.  I wonder what it is, and why he has it in his bed?”

CHAPTER X

THE SECRET CONFERENCE

Blake was silent a moment after making this portentous announcement.  Then he leaned forward, with the evident intention of picking up the curious, ticking box.

“Look out!” cried Joe, grasping his chum’s hand.

“What for?” Blake wanted to know.

“It might be loaded—­go off, you know!”

“Nonsense!” exclaimed Blake.  “It’s probably only some sort of foreign alarm clock, and he stuffed it in there so the ticking wouldn’t keep him awake.  I’ve done the same thing when I didn’t want to get up.  I used to chuck mine under the bed, or stuff it in an old shoe.  What’s the matter with you, anyhow?  You act scared,” for Joe’s face was actually white—­that is as white as it could be under the tan caused by his outdoor life.

“Well, I—­I thought,” stammered Joe.  “Perhaps that was a—­”

“Who’s getting suspicious now?” demanded Blake with a laugh.  “Talk about me!  Why, you’re way ahead!”

“Oh, well, I guess I did imagine too much,” admitted Joe with a little laugh.  “It probably is an alarm clock, as you say.  I wonder what we’d better do with it?  If we leave it there—­”

He was interrupted by the opening of the stateroom door and as both boys turned they saw their Spanish friend standing on the threshold staring at them.

“Well!” he exclaimed, and there was an angry note in his voice—­a note the boys had never before noticed, for Mr. Alcando was of a sunny and happy disposition, and not nearly as quick tempered as persons of his nationality are supposed to be.