"if you can call anything good that put our turbines out of commission at a time when we needed them. Have some of them for dinner, Speake." He turned to Dick. "Lay our course for the Port-of-Spain, old chap," he added. "We'll put into the harbor and look the submarine over to see whether her bow has been damaged any. I'll go below and have a look at the fore-rudder. Possibly we can tinker that up temporarily. It would never do to pick up the midshipman with the Grampus at all out of commission."

"Aye, aye, old ship!" responded Dick heartily.

They were to call at the Port-of-Spain, after all, and Dick Ferral was mightily pleased with the prospect.

CHAPTER II.

JOHN HENRY GLENNIE, U. S. N.

The anchor of the steamship Borneo splashed into the yellow waters of the Gulf of Paria, the boat continuing onward until the anchor had taken a grip on the muddy bottom. The Borneo was from Venezuelan ports, and at La Guayra had picked up no less a personage than John Henry Glennie, Ensign, U. S. N.

The steamer carried a queer assortment of passengers, and they were all around Ensign Glennie as he sat well aft on the grating beside the hand-steering gear.

Venezuelans were chattering like magpies; little brown youngsters were rolling over and over around Glennie's feet; a British engineer was talking with a Jew pearl buyer from Margarita Island—the Spanish coming queerly from their alien lips; a German coffee-planter was exchanging small talk with the wife of a Dutch officer who lived in Curaçoa; and there was the usual ragtag and bobtail of English and Brazilians, all of whom gave the youth in the naval uniform more or less curious notice.

But the youth, his suit case on a table at his elbow, seemed absorbed in his own thoughts. Judging merely by appearance, Ensign Glennie's thoughts were far from pleasant. His fingers drummed sharply on the table top, and there was a frown of discontent on his face as his eyes fixed themselves gloomily on the Trinidad hills that lay back of the town of Port-of-Spain. In all conscience, the ensign had enough to trouble him.

Several days previous, he had been detached from the United States cruiser Seminole at La Guayra on special duty. Incidentally, the commander of the Seminole had entrusted him with a packet of important papers to be delivered to Mr. Brigham, the United States consular representative at Para, in the mouth of the Amazon River. In the course of his duty, Ensign Glennie was to call at Para; also the course of his duty demanded that he proceed to Georgetown, British Guiana, and there await the arrival of a certain boat in which he was to take passage around "the Horn."

Ensign Glennie, let it be known, was descended from a line of Massachusetts notables who first came over in the Mayflower. His father was a Boston nabob, and there was a good deal more pride and haughtiness about Glennie than was good for him. No sooner had he been cut loose from the Seminole on detached duty, than he proceeded to hire the services of a body servant—a sphinx-like little Jap by the name of Tolo.

How Tolo came to be in La Guayra at the very time the ensign landed there, and why he should insinuate himself into the particular notice of Glennie and ask for a job, were mysteries not destined to be solved for some time. The prime thing to be taken account of here is that Tolo did present himself, and was hired.

For two days he brushed the ensign's clothes, polished his boots, and performed other services such as fall to the lot of a valet who knows his business. Then, after two days of faithful service, Tolo disappeared; and, about the same time, the packet of important papers likewise vanished.

Glennie led the authorities in a wild hunt through La Guayra, and after that through Caracas, but Tolo was not to be found. What on earth the little Jap wanted with the papers, Glennie could not even guess, but that he had them seemed a certainty.

Returning to La Guayra, Glennie found that the authorities there had discovered that Tolo had taken passage, on the very morning he had turned up missing, on a tramp steamer bound for Trinidad and Port-of-Spain; and the authorities further stated that Tolo had formerly been employed as a waiter in the fonda Ciudad Bolivar, which fronted the esplanade of the capital city of the island.

Ensign Glennie changed his plans forthwith. Instead of proceeding direct to Georgetown he would gain that port by way of Trinidad, stopping long enough in Port-of-Spain to hunt up the enterprising Tolo and secure the papers.

So this was why Glennie happened to be on the Borneo; and it was also the reason he was not so comfortable in his mind as he might otherwise have been.

As a commissioned officer in the United States Navy he had been entrusted with important dispatches. If he did not recover the dispatches, and then proceed with the rest of the duty marked out for him, a black mark would be set against his name that would interfere with his promotion.

Glennie was worried as he had never been before in his life. His one desire was to serve Uncle Sam with a clean and gallant record. His father, the Boston nabob, expected great things of him, and Glennie, being puffed up—as already stated—with rather high ideas regarding his family, expected them of himself. Therefore the loss of that packet of official papers caught him like a slap in the face. It made him squirm, and he was squirming as he sat by that table on the grating, felt the Borneo reach the end of her scope of cable and come to a stop with her mud-hook hard and fast.

The water was too shoal for a large boat to get very far inshore, and Glennie was among the first to tumble into the launch that soon hove alongside. When he had scrambled off the launch at the landing, he hailed a queer-looking cab and ordered the dusky driver to carry him, as rapidly as possible, to the fonda Ciudad Bolivar.

The ensign did not pay much attention to the scenery as he was jostled along—his mind was too full of other things for that—and presently he went into the wood and stone building that faced the plaza and proceeded to make frantic inquiries regarding a waiter by the name of Tolo.

To all of these eager questions the Venezuelan proprietor of the hotel gave a negative shake of the head.

"There must be some mistake—the Señor Americano has surely been wrongly informed. There has never been such a person as the Japanese employed in the fonda. The waiters were all Venezuelans, and no Japs were ever employed. Perhaps this Tolo had worked in the old hotel that had been burned during the great fire?"

Glennie's trail, faint enough at best, had run into thin air. He was at the end of it, and it had led him nowhere. Going off into one corner of the wineroom, the ensign dropped down at a table in an obscure corner, rested his chin in his hands, and wondered dejectedly what he should do next.

He was not very well acquainted with Orientals, or the brand of guile they used. He had heard of Japs insinuating themselves into fortifications flying the United States flag and making drawings and jotting down memoranda of the guns, stores, and number of men. He had laughed contemptuously at such yarns, although heartily agreeing with the expediency that had suggested such a move on the part of the men from Nippon. Like all others in the sea and land service of the Great Republic, Ensign Glennie knew that it wasn't so much the forts, or the guns, or the ammunition, as it is the unconquerable spirit of the men behind the guns that count.

But where was the tactical advantage to be gained by a Jap in stealing an envelope addressed to a consular agent tucked away in a Brazilian town at the mouth of the Amazon? The only advantage which Glennie could think of was that of pecuniary