The wind almost blew me flat to the earth as, no longer able to stand the suspense, I stumbled toward the hotel, thinking perhaps he had gone to save his armamentarium, although if I had stopped to think I should have realized that that strong box was about the safest piece of property on the island.

I was literally picked up and hurled against an object in the darkness—­a man.  “In the room—­more keratin—­more seeds.”

It was Kennedy.  He had taken advantage of the confusion to make a search which otherwise might have been more difficult.  Together we struggled back to our shelter.

Just then came a crash, as the hotel crumpled under the fierce stress of the storm.  Out of the doorway struggled a figure just in time to clear the falling walls.  It was Burleigh, a huge gash from a beam streaming blood down his forehead which the rain washed away almost as it oozed.  In his arms, clinging about his neck, was Leontine, no longer the sophisticated, but in the face of this primeval danger just a woman.  Burleigh staggered with his burden a little apart from us, and in spite of everything I could fancy him blessing the storm that had given him his opportunity.

Far from abating, the storm seemed increasing in fury, as though all the devils of the underworld were vexed at anything remaining undestroyed.  It seemed as if even the hills on which the old pirates had once had their castles must be rocking.

“My God!” exclaimed a thick voice, as an arm shot out, pointing toward the harbor.

There was the Arroyo tugging at every extra mooring that could be impressed into service.  The lighters had broken or been cut away and were scudding, destruction-bent, squarely at the shore almost below us.  A moment and they had crashed on the beach, a mass of timbers and spars, while the pounding waves tore open and flung about heavy cases as though they were mere toys.

Then, almost as suddenly as it had come, the storm began to abate, the air cleared, and nothing remained but the fury of the waves.

“Look!” exclaimed Kennedy, pointing down at the strange wreckage that strewed the beach.  “Does that look like agricultural machinery?” We strained our eyes.  Kennedy did not pause.  “The moment I heard that arms were getting into Mexico I suspected that somewhere here in the Caribbean munitions were being transhipped.  Perhaps they have been sent to Atlantic ports ostensibly for the Allies.  They have got down here disguised.  Even before the storm exposed them I had reasoned it out.  From this port, the key to the vast sweep of mainland, I reasoned that they were being taken over to secret points on the coast where big ships could not safely go.  It was here that blockade-runners were refitted in our Civil War.  It is here that this new gun-running plot has been laid.”

He turned quickly to Sydney.  “The only obstacle between the transfer of the arms and success was the activity of an American consulate.  Those lighters were not to carry goods to other islands.  They were really destined for Mexico.  It was profitable.  And the scheme for removing opposition was evidently safe.”