“Yes.”

“Well, I am in dead earnest.”

“Where did we meet before?”

“The last time we met I promised you we would meet again.”

A fierce look shot into Denman’s eyes as he permitted his glance to roam around the garden.

He was studying what the chances would be under certain contingencies.

“As I don’t know you, do you know me?”

“You told me your name was King.”

“Is that my name?”

“No.”

“What is my name?”

“Denman,” came the answer in a low, firm tone.  The master of the “Nancy” turned deadly pale.  Ho realized that something was up, and it came to him that the seeming countryman after all, was a man as keen and resolute as himself.

“You say my name is Denman?”

“Yes.”

“You are sure?”

“I am.”

“What’s my business?”

“You’re the master of the ’Nancy’.”

Denman made a certain significant motion with his hand, when the detective whispered: 

“Don’t!”

There was a world of significance in that little word “Don’t!”

“Who are you?”

“Can’t you guess?”

“I’m not guessing to-day.”

“Sorry.”

“What is your business with me?”

“I wanted to tell you that I knew who you were.”

“Is that all?”

“No.”

“What else?”

“I wanted you to know that I am a man who keeps his word.”

“Is your word passed to me?”

“Yes.”

“What is your promise?”

“I promised to meet you again.”

“I don’t recall.”

“Don’t you perceive?”

“Perceive what?”

“That you are in a bad hole.”

Again the master of the “Nancy” made a certain movement, when the detective repeated in a peculiar warning tone: 

“Don’t.”

“You are a revenue officer?” said Denman.

“Aha! now you begin to open up!”

“What is your business with me?”

“You are my prisoner!”

“No, no, my friend!”

“Yes, yes, Denman.”

Matters were approaching a critical climax.  Denman attempted to rise from his seat.

“Sit down!” commanded the detective.

“My friend,” Said Denman, “don’t fly your kite too high, your string may be cut.”

The smuggler spoke in a warning tone.

“Sit down,” repeated the detective.

Denman realized that he was facing a man who was well prepared at every turn.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“I am your old friend Ballard!” came the reply.

CHAPTER XXXI.

Denman showed signs of great excitement and trepidation.

Our readers will remember that the smuggler had never identified Spencer Vance and Ballard as one and the same man; and, when suspicions were aroused as to the identity of the disguised detective, it never once entered Denman’s head that he was sitting vis-a-vis with Ballard.