“Who’ve you got aboard?” came the next question from the captain of the Petrel.

Vinton briefly stated his passenger list and explained the purpose of their cruise.

“Bound for Key West now?” shouted the Petrel’s captain, whom Vinton, studying him through the marine glass, recognized as James Kelsey.  “Trying to dodge that craft that just passed us, or trying to catch her?”

“We were goin’ to report as how we seen her las’ night off Snipe Point,” bawled Vinton, speaking through a megaphone which Dave had handed to him.  “Thought you fellows were at Key West.”

“We were until this morning,” came the answer.  “We’ve been chasing that boat.  She’s the Esperanza, a smuggler.  Have you seen her throwing anything overboard, or picking up stuff—–­like boxes or small kegs?”

Then a light of understanding broke upon Vinton’s mind.  So that was what the smuggler had been doing all night!  Not grappling for the cable, but stealthily picking up a contraband cargo of munitions of war, small stores such as could be cast adrift along the coast in some prearranged method and gathered in by those who had been instructed to recognize the floating objects!  What were they?  Water-tight kegs of dynamite, submerged, but buoyed up by thrice their weight of corks?  Boxes of rifle bullets?  Or merely harmless glass bottles containing, perhaps, written descriptions of the country to be invaded, photographs of fortifications, details of naval or military equipment?

The answer was not long forthcoming.

“Ain’t seen her pick up anything,” shouted Vinton, “but reckon that’s her lay.  What’s she after?”

“Dynamite.”

“By thunder!” ejaculated the captain in a low tone of awe.

“Yes, that’s just what they’ll do, if they can,” Billy commented with one of his irrepressible grins.  “They’ll buy thunder.  You’ve said it, Cap!  But what’ll they use it for?”

Vinton paid not the slightest heed to Billy’s poor pun.  Instead, while Alec gave Billy a dig in the ribs, the captain put the same question to Kelsey.

“Oh, you know they’ve started another one of those dinky revolutions in Panama, two generals fighting for the presidency,” explained Kelsey.  He no longer was obliged to shout curtailed messages through his megaphone, but spoke through it in a tone only a few degrees louder than ordinarily; for the sloop and the steamer were now almost alongside.  “Well, the U.S. and Cuba want to stay entirely out of the little war game; but one side of the revolution, the Visteros, are sore at Uncle Sam and trying to make him take a hand.  They’ve got agents in all the Gulf states, in Cuba and Hayti, and they’re trying to stir up trouble.”

What kind o trouble?

“Any old kind.  They’re not particular as to the brand.  It’s war stores they want, and discontented loafers for soldiers of fortune.  And the Visteros are stealing dynamite to threaten the Canal.”