"Let me do the talking," said Lorns with a nervous rapidity that at
once enlisted the ears of Quin and myself. "Don't interrupt, but
listen. The chief suspects that last trunk. I can tell it by the way
he acts. A bit later, when I come ashore, he'll ask to have it
opened. Should he do so, we're gone; you and I." This last was to me.
Then to Quin: "Do you see that tall lean Swiss, with the long boots
and porcelain pipe? He's in an ugly mood, doesn't speak English, and
within one minute after you return to the wharf, he and I will be
entangled in a rough and tumble riot. I'll attend to that. The row
will be prodigious. The chief will be sent for to settle the war, and
when he leaves the wharf, Quin, don't wait; seize on that silk trunk
and throw it into the river. There's iron enough clamped about the
corners to sink it; besides, it's packed so tightly it's as heavy as
lead, and will go to the bottom like an anvil. Then from the pile pull
down some trunk similar to it in looks and stand it in its place. Give
the new trunk my mark, as the chief has already read the name on the
trunk. Go, Quin; I rely on you."

"You can trust me, my boy," retorted Quin cheerfully, and turning on
his heel, he was back on the wharf in a moment, and apparently busy
about the pile of baggage.

Suddenly there came a mighty uproar aboard ship. Lorns and the Swiss,
the latter already irate over some trouble he had experienced, were
rolling about the deck in a most violent scrimmage, the Swiss having
decidedly the worst of the trouble. The chief rushed up the plank;
Lorns and the descendant of Tell and Winkelried, were torn apart; and
then a double din of explanation ensued. After ten minutes, the chief
was able to straighten out the difficulty--whatever its pretended