As for O’Reilly, the familiar odor of those Cuban cigarettes, the snatches of Spanish conversation which he overheard, awoke in him a great excitement; he realized with an odd thrill that these eager, dark-visaged men were now his friends and comrades, and that those Americans loitering watchfully among them were his enemies—­the spies of whom Ramos had spoken.  There were at least a score of the latter, and all were plainly stamped with the distinctive marks of their calling.  That they, too, were interested in the latest arrivals was soon made evident by their efforts to get acquainted.

To Norine Evans it was all immensely exciting.  The attention she evoked delighted her vastly, and she was almost offended when O’Reilly threatened one particularly forward sleuth with a thrashing, thereby ending her fun.

It was a strangely restless gathering.  The Cubans sat in groups or in pairs with their heads together, smoking furiously and whispering, pausing now and then to glare balefully at some detective who drew within ear-shot.  Every hour increased the strain.

On the street it became known that a party of filibusters was in the city and curious townspeople came to investigate, while others journeyed to the water-front to stare at the big ocean-going tug which had slipped into the harbor on the evening previous.  When they learned that she was none other than the Dauntless, that most famous of Cuban blockade-runners, and that “Dynamite Johnny” O’Brien himself was in command, interest grew.  The exploits of that redoubtable mariner were familiar to the citizens of Charleston, and their sympathies were quite naturally with the cause he served; therefore they were disappointed to behold a revenue cutter at anchor close alongside the Dauntless.  Her steam was up; she was ready for instant action; it seemed impossible for “Dynamite Johnny” to get his cargo and his passengers aboard under her very nose.  Some imaginative person claimed to have a tip that the Dauntless intended to ram the revenue cutter, and a warning to that effect appeared in the evening paper, together with the rumor that a Spanish cruiser was waiting just outside the three-mile limit.

Charleston awoke with a start, and the Cuban patriots who found themselves the object of this sudden interest buzzed like flies.  They muttered and whispered more mysteriously than ever, and consumed even greater quantities of tobacco.  The detectives became painfully alert.

To O’Reilly and his two companions it seemed that the expedition had already failed.  Through some blunder its plans had evidently become known, and all was ruined.  That was the worst of these Cubans; they couldn’t keep a secret.  Branch stalked the hotel lobby like a restless wraith.  O’Reilly was furious.  Of the entire party Ramos alone maintained an unruffled pleasantry; he spent the evening in Miss Evans’s company, quite oblivious to the general feeling of dismay.