fleet South Atlantic. Discharge your German crew immediately, first
notifying Brazilian authorities and American consul. Have help when
you notify them game is off, otherwise may take vessel away from
you. They will stop at nothing; fleet desperate for coal. Cable
acknowledgment these orders; also cable when orders fulfilled. Very
anxious. "BLUE STAR NAVIGATION COMPANY."

"Ah-h-h!" breathed Michael J. Murphy softly, but very distinctly. "So
that's the game, eh?" His big square chin set viciously;
subconsciously he clenched his hard fist and shook it at his enemies.
"The cunning Dutch devils!" he murmured very audibly, and at that
precise instant Herr August Carl von Staden stood in the open doorway.
He coughed, and Murphy glanced up from the translation of the cipher
message just in time to note a swift shadow pass over the supercargo's
face, a shadow composed of equal parts of suspicion, embarrassment and
desperation.

"You have returned very promptly, captain," he remarked smoothly, and
then his restless glance fell on the cablegram and beside it the
scratch pad and the two parallel columns of words scrawled on it. A
man of far less intelligence than von Staden possessed would, have
realized as quickly that the first column was composed of cipher
words, while the second column was the translation. From this
tell-tale evidence his suspicious glance lifted to the skipper's face,
and he read in Michael J. Murphy's black eyes the wild rage which no
Irishman could have concealed--which the majority of his race would
not even have taken the trouble to endeavor to conceal.

In that glance each learned the other's secret; each realized that the
success of his plans depended on the silence of the other; each