After breakfast the two men went to where Taylor’s boat lay, a large and stanch little mainsail and jib boat, rough in appearance, but a good sea boat and a fast sailer.

The captain of the little craft steered her through the channel, and was soon running across the famous Great South Bay, and later on our hero found himself in one of those many famous Long Island sea-coast towns, where summer boarders made merry the passing hours of the July and August months.

Taylor took our hero to his own home, and introduced him to a cleanly and interesting family.

“When do we start?” demanded Vance, after indulging in a good, and really substantial dinner.

“We will take the two o’clock train,” was the reply.

Our readers will observe that we do not name localities, and we have a good reason.  Within the last few months smuggling has been resumed, and the government is adopting measures once more to suppress the traffic, and we have decided that the interest of our narrative does not demand more specific details.

To those of our readers who are acquainted with the Long Island coast, it is not necessary to name the several localities; as, from passing hints, they will be able to locate the several points; and readers who live afar would be no wiser were we to name towns, and designate exact localities.

It was late in the afternoon when our hero and his friend, Taylor, stood on the shore of another one of the several famous bays that indent Long Island’s sea shore; and, what seems still more startling, about half a mile off shore lay the yacht “Nancy.”

Our hero and his companion were at the point when the taut little smuggler ran down from the inlet, and came to an anchor oft the shore.

At the time the place had not become as great a resort as at present, and the hordes of pleasure-seekers, who now, during certain seasons of the year dwell on the coast, little dream of the wild scenes, and wilder orgies that occurred thereabouts a few years back.

Taylor and the detective had crossed the bay to the island and were hidden in the brush that fringed the bluff overlooking the shore, when the “Nancy” ran down as described and came to an anchor.

“There’s the smuggler!” exclaimed Taylor as he first caught sight of the yacht.

“Yes, there’s the ‘Nancy’ as sure as you are born,” returned the detective.

“Ah, you know her?”

“I reckon I do.”

“There’s a bad lot on that boat.”

“There is a bad lot; they are a crew of murderer and bandits.”

“They do great harm to our legitimate business, and good honest men are constantly annoyed by the cutters who hail and search them almost daily.”

“We will soon put that crew out of harm’s way,” remarked the detective.

“She’s loaded,” said Taylor.

“How loaded?”

“She’s got contraband cargo beneath her decks.”