Night fell, and the detective strained his eyes to watch the movements on board the “Nancy.”

The men, as he discovered, were playing their game well; at the proper hour their lights were set, and all the necessary precautions taken for a vessel which proposed to lay at anchor all night in a water way.

The detective was still on the watch, while the hours slowly glided away until near midnight, when he saw certain movements on board the boat that warned him she was about to change her position.

The detective, who had been lying on the grass rose to his feet, prepared to follow the movements of the “Nancy,” when he was suddenly confronted by an armed man.

CHAPTER XXIV.

The detective was momentarily taken all aback.  The stranger came upon him suddenly.

One fact was established:  the man had been the first to make the discovery of the presence of the detective, and his good luck gave him, seemingly, the advantage.

For a moment the two men stood gazing at each other under the starlight.

The silence was broken by the armed man, who said: 

“Well, mister, what are you doing spying around here?”

“Who says I’m spying around here?”

“I do.”

“Well, you and I won’t quarrel.”

The stranger had a dead bead on the detective.

“No, stranger, you and I won’t quarrel, it’s easy for us to come to an understanding; just tell me who you are, and what you’re doing around here, or say, your prayers as quick as you can.”

“Why, what do you mean, my good man?—­this ain’t one of the South Sea Islands!  I haven’t fallen in with cannibals right here in Suffolk County, New York State!”

The detective was coming the innocent dodge, and his little lead off was most excellent, and displayed great quickness and readiness of thought.

The smuggler, as later on the stranger proved to be, was set a little back by the detective’s pretended innocence, but in a moment he recovered his ideas, and said: 

“I think you’re a thief!”

“You think I’m a thief!”

“Yes, I do.”

“Well, this is a great idea, that I should be taken for a thief!”

“You don’t live on the island?”

“No.”

“Have you any friends here?”

“No.”

“That’s just what I thought.  And now, give an account of yourself—­what are you doing prowling around here?”

“This is a free country; a man can go where he pleases, I reckon, without giving an account of himself to every man he meets.”

“If you’ve got any friends on the island who know you and will vouch for you, it’s all right; otherwise you will give an account of yourself.”

“I reckon it’s none of your business what I am doing can the island.  I think you had better give an account of yourself, coining upon a stranger, after dark, with pistols in your hands!”