My recollection is, it was a sub-agent in Cuba who turned evidenceon Clyde at last, for a gunboat missed us by only a few miles comingdown by St. Christopher, as I heard afterward. Then a Spanish cruiserran us down, at last, under a corner of a little island among theWindwards, about thirty miles east of Tobago, where Clyde'scleverness came to nothing.

It was growing twilight, we driving close off the low shores of theisland. The woods were dark above the shore, and half a mile out wasthe black cruiser, with a pennon of smoke against the sky, and theblack water between. I went into Clyde's cabin and found him talkingto himself.

"We'll be scuttling her, Tom," he says.

With that he gave a jerk at the foot of his bunk, and the footboardcame off, and there underneath were four brown canvas bags tied upwith rope. Now, I never knew before that day that Clyde didn't keephis money in a bank, same as any other civilised gentleman, and itshows how little I knew about him, after all. He sat there holding upeagles and double pesos to the lamplight, with his eyes shining andhis wrinkled aged mouth smiling.

"What are you going to do with that?" I says, surprised at the sightof it, and he kept on smiling.