"it looks decidedly as if my lady possessed a slight advantage in having a man-of-war at her call. But with all that fleet of boats in the harbor it does seem that there should be one bound for Cuba. How to hit that particular one is the question."
He strolls down the broad street to the harbor front, and from a wharf wistfully gazes at the Spanish man-of-war now nearly hull down on the horizon bearing away his fair fellow-voyager. A tanned and weather-beaten son of Neptune is making fast a small sloop, whose name Barker notes with idle curiosity is emblazoned in generous letters on her stern, "Cayo Hueso."
"Say, my good fellow," he says, "you don't happen to know of any way to reach Havana, do you? Are any of these vessels likely to sail for that port within a day or two?"
He of the weather-beaten face finishes making fast the little sloop without answering, and then slowly turns and looks at Barker. The gaze is a long and searching one, but apparently it is satisfactory.
"There's one way to reach Cuba, I reckon," he says, with a pronounced nasal twang. "That is, if you are sailor enough to stand that sloop and wise enough to keep your mouth shut on occasions."
Barker surveys the little craft doubtfully. She is of perhaps five tons' burden, and looks old and risky.
"I could stand the sail if the boat is seaworthy, and I am anxious to reach Havana," he finally says. "When do you sail?"
"At 6 o'clock. The Cayo don't go clear to Cuba, only about half-way across the channel. But we can put you aboard another craft that will land you in Havana. Got any baggage?"
Barker meditates a moment. "How long will it take to make the passage?" he inquires.
"Wall, if this wind holds you ought to be in Havana by to-morrow night. It will cost you—say, $25."
Barker's decision is made. "I'll chance it," he says. "I'll be here at 6 o'clock."
On his return to the Cayo Hueso, the detective finds
