In the nature of timings it could not be a long chase, for Ensign
Dave Darrin was a swift runner, of many years' training.

Rogers, slim and lithe, was also an excellent runner.

Less than a block's distance, and Darrin had gripped the fleeing
Mexican by the collar.

His left hand reached for the bag, and in a moment Dave had it
in his custody. Not a man of the Vera Cruz police force was in
sight, to whom to turn the wretch over, so Darrin flung the fellow
from him.

That the handbag had not been opened Darrin was sure, for he had
kept his eye upon it through the chase.

Going to the ground in a heap, the Mexican thief was upon his
feet instantly. A knife glittered in his right hand as he rushed
at the young ensign.

But Seaman Rogers was too quick for the fellow. One of his feet
shot up, the kick landing on the Mexican's wrist. That kick broke
the fellow's wrist and sent the knife spinning through the air.

"We must go back to the woman from whom this was taken," Dave
declared, and he and Rogers faced about, walking briskly back
to the carriage.