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Title: Linux fundamentals / Richard Blum.
Description: Second edition. | Burlington, Massachusetts : Jones & Bartlett
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To all the teachers, coworkers, students, friends, and Internet posters who
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Contents

Preface
Acknowledgments
About the Author
CHAPTER 1 Linux Basics
What Is Linux?
The Linux Kernel
System Memory Management
Software Program Management
Hardware Management
Filesystem Management
The GNU Utilities
Linux User Interfaces
The X Window System
The KDE Plasma Desktop
The GNOME Desktop
Other Linux Desktops
The Command Line Interface
Linux Distributions: Why So Many?
Core Linux Distributions
Derivative Linux Distributions
CHAPTER SUMMARY
KEY CONCEPTS AND TERMS
CHAPTER 1 ASSESSMENT

CHAPTER 2 Linux and Software

Popular Linux Applications
Desktop Applications
Server Applications
Exploring Package Management
Exploring the Debian-Based Systems
The Red Hat–Based Systems
Managing Software Using Containers
Using Snap Containers
Using Flatpak Containers
Installing from Source Code
CHAPTER SUMMARY
KEY CONCEPTS AND TERMS
CHAPTER 2 ASSESSMENT
CHAPTER 3 Linux and Hardware
Device Driver Modules
Listing Installed Modules
Installing New Modules
Removing Modules
Communicating with Linux Devices
Device Interfaces
The /dev Directory
The /proc Directory
The /sys Directory
Working with Devices
Finding Devices
Working with PCI Cards
Working with USB Devices
Using Hot Pluggable Devices
Detecting Dynamic Devices
Working with Dynamic Devices
CHAPTER SUMMARY
KEY CONCEPTS AND TERMS
CHAPTER 3 ASSESSMENT
References

CHAPTER 4 Booting Linux

The Linux Boot Process
Following the Boot Process
Viewing the Boot Process
The Firmware Startup
The BIOS Startup
The UEFI Startup
Linux Boot Loaders
GRUB Legacy
GRUB2
Alternative Bootloaders
Process Initialization
The SysVinit Method
 The Systemd Method
CHAPTER SUMMARY
KEY CONCEPTS AND TERMS
CHAPTER 4 ASSESSMENT

CHAPTER 5 Disk Management

Storage Basics
Drive Connections
Partitioning Drives
Automatic Drive Detection
Partitioning Tools
Working with fdisk
Working with gdisk
The GNU Parted Command
Graphical Tools
Understanding File Systems
The Virtual Directory
Maneuvering Around the File System
Formatting File Systems
Common File System Types
Creating File Systems
Mounting File Systems
Manually Mounting Devices
Automatically Mounting Devices
Managing File Systems
Retrieving File System Stats
File System Tools
Storage Alternatives
Multipath
Logical Volume Manager
Using RAID Technology
CHAPTER SUMMARY
KEY CONCEPTS AND TERMS
CHAPTER 5 ASSESSMENT
CHAPTER 6 Command Line Basics
The Linux Shell
Types of Shells
Starting the Shell
The Shell Command Prompt
Accessing the Command Line
Using Virtual Terminals
Terminal Emulation
Shell Basics
Commands
Getting Help
Running Multiple Commands
Redirecting Input and Output
Output Redirection
Input Redirection
Pipes
Linux Environment Variables
Global Environment Variables
Local Environment Variables
Setting Environment Variables
Removing Environment Variables
Writing Shell Scripts
Getting Started
Displaying Messages
Using Variables
Command Line Arguments
Command Substitution
Logic Statements
Looping
CHAPTER SUMMARY
KEY CONCEPTS AND TERMS
CHAPTER 6 ASSESSMENT
References

CHAPTER 7 File Management

Filesystem Navigation
The Linux Filesystem
Traversing Directories
Linux Files
Determining File Types
File Names
Hidden Files
File Inodes
File and Directory Listing
Basic Listing
Modifying Listing Information
The Complete Parameter List
Directory Handling
Creating Directories
Deleting Directories
File Handling
Creating Files
Copying Files
Linking Files
Renaming Files
Deleting Files
File Features
Using Wildcards
Quoting
Case Sensitivity
Finding Files
The which Command
The locate Command
The whereis Command
The find Command
Archiving Files
Compressing Files
Creating Archive Files
Archiving Scenarios
CHAPTER SUMMARY
 KEY CONCEPTS AND TERMS
CHAPTER 7 ASSESSMENT
Resources

CHAPTER 8 Networking Concepts

Configuring Network Features
Network Configuration Files
Using Graphical Tools
Using Command-Line Tools
Basic Network Troubleshooting
Sending Test Packets
Finding Host Information
Advanced Network Troubleshooting
The netstat Command
Examining Sockets
CHAPTER SUMMARY
KEY CONCEPTS AND TERMS
CHAPTER 8 ASSESSMENT
Resources

CHAPTER 9 Managing Processes

Looking at Processes
Monitoring Processes in Real Time
Managing Processes
Setting Priorities
Stopping Processes
Running Programs in Background Mode
Running in the Background
Running Multiple Background Jobs
Running Programs Without a Console
Job Control
Viewing Jobs
Restarting Stopped Jobs
Scheduling Jobs
Scheduling a Job Using the at Command
 Scheduling Recurring Programs
CHAPTER SUMMARY
KEY CONCEPTS AND TERMS
CHAPTER 9 ASSESSMENT
Resources

CHAPTER 10 Advanced Administration

User Management
Examining User Accounts
Accessing Administrator Privileges
Working with Groups
Managing User Accounts
Linux File and Directory Permissions
Understanding Ownership
Changing File or Directory Ownership
Changing the File or Directory Group
Controlling Access Permissions
Exploring Special Permissions
Managing Default Permissions
Advanced Access Control Lists
Managing the Date and Time
Setting the Date and Time Manually
Synching the Time Automatically
Setting the Time Zone
Printer Administration
Configuring CUPS
Using LPD Commands
Using Linux Printer Drivers
Email Administration
Describing Linux Email Architecture
Identifying Linux Email Servers
Using Linux Email Clients
Redirecting Email
Secure Login
Using OpenSSH
 Another Random Document on
Scribd Without Any Related Topics
 CHAPTER III.
A POINT FOR THE ARCHCROOK.
For the merest part of a second Paul Clayton neither moved nor
spoke. Then his hand shot down to a side pocket and came up with
a heavy revolver.
The officer had been looking for some such move. He seized the
young man’s wrist and gave it a wrench that caused the weapon to
fall clattering to the floor.
“That won’t help you,” was the quiet warning. “Don’t resist,
because you will be the person to suffer if you do.”
“What am I arrested for?” asked Clayton, composing himself with a
tremendous effort.
“Stealing jewels estimated at about eighty thousand dollars from
Mr. Stephen Reed, of New York City. He is said to be your uncle. We
think we have the goods on you, too.”
Paul Clayton dropped his head despairingly. To think that, just
when he had been so sure that he could return to his uncle the
jewels he knew now he never had meant to keep, and begin life
anew, with no stain on his name, he had to be arrested by this
strange detective, who had followed him all this way, and seemed to
have got to San Juan before him!
“Very well!” he sighed. “I’ll go with you quietly. There is nothing
else I can do. I only want to say that Mr. Reed would have had all his
property back as soon as it could reach him by express, and that
there would have been no need for this arrest.”
“I guess so!” remarked the detective, with an incredulous shrug.
“But I caution you that anything you say may be used against you at
your trial. My advice to you is not to talk.”
 “I have been a fool, I know,” went on Clayton, seemingly unable to
keep his tongue quiet. “But I meant to make good.”
“Be careful.”
“I am careful. I have nothing to hide. The suit case holding the
property is over on that chair, in my cabin. On the table is a letter I
have written to Mr. Reed, and which would have been mailed as
soon as I could get ashore. You can read it, and it will convince you
that I have been telling the truth.”
“You’d better tell that to the judge,” interrupted the officer.
“I want to tell it to you. I wish you’d look at that letter.”
“It isn’t necessary. Hold out your hands.”
In another second the handcuffs were clapped on the wrists of
Paul Clayton.
For the first time in his life he was a manacled prisoner. A dry sob
broke from his throat.
It was then, as the officer stepped behind him and placed a hand
on the precious suit case, that a curious change came over the face
of the man from headquarters.
He bent over the suit case and a grin widened his mouth in so
extraordinary a way that, if anybody who knew him had seen him at
that instant, he would have declared that this detective lieutenant
from New York was none other than John Garrison Rayne, the
Apache!
“This is dead easy!” he muttered. “And it’s good that Nick Carter
has gone off the ship. I’ll take these few things from my innocent
young friend here, and he can get the handcuffs off when Carter
comes back.”
How the scoundrel had contrived to get hold of the semiofficial
uniform he wore in so short a time was his own secret.
It need only be said that when a man has six hundred dollars in
cash in his pocket, he can get most things he wants, up to the value
of his pile, in San Juan, just as he can in any other busy center.
 At all events, here was John Garrison Rayne on the Cherokee, in
the guise of a detective, seemingly carrying everything before him.
He had completely fooled Captain Bill Lawton, and Paul Clayton
had not the least suspicion that he was anything but what he
pretended to be.
“You will remain in this cabin a prisoner for the present,” he said
shortly, turning to Clayton. “I shall have to go ashore and telegraph
to New York for instructions. Ah, here’s Captain Lawton!”
The skipper was coming down the companionway. He raised his
eyebrows as he saw that Paul Clayton was standing at the
stateroom door, with handcuffs on his wrists.
“Nabbed him, eh?” he growled.
“I have him under arrest,” replied Rayne, with dignity. “If you will
bring a couple of your men to guard the prisoner, I will stay till you
come back.”
“All right! I’ll get my bos’n, Clegg, and another man,” replied the
captain. “Clegg is the sort of fellow who won’t take any funny
business from anybody. With him and another, your prisoner will be
as safe as if he was in jail ashore.”
The captain hurried away to get Clegg—who, in the absence of
Joe Sykes, was acting as bos’n. He was glad to do anything he
could to help the officer from New York.
John Garrison Rayne watched the captain till he disappeared up
the stairway. Then he stooped and picked up the revolver Clayton
had dropped, putting it into his pocket.
The young man had fallen into a chair at the big table in the middle
of the saloon, and was sitting there, his head resting upon his arms,
the picture of despair.
The Apache strode deliberately into the stateroom—for he was
afraid to hurry or show any eagerness, lest he should be suspected
—and picked up the suit case.
 As he brought it to the table, he was surprised to find that it was
not locked.
He opened it and turned out its contents upon the table as if they
had been a heap of pebbles. It was his way of showing that he
regarded the booty from a purely official point of view.
Paul Clayton did not look up. He seemed to have lost interest in
everything in the world just then.
Rayne had seen the jewels before. But he could not keep the glint
out of his eyes as they fell upon the glittering stones and gold
settings which would mean a fortune to him.
He had been at his last gasp financially when he had come on
board the old tramp steamer. He had had enough to pay his fare and
provide himself with cigars, and that was about all. He felt that he
must make a killing now, no matter at what risk.
It was just as Rayne had the jewels spread out on the table that
Captain Bill Lawton came down again. His eyes fell upon the display,
and he could not get his breath.
The genial skipper did not know much about the value of gems
and richly chased gold ornaments. But he felt sure this heap must be
worth a great deal of money. He found himself regretting that he had
not known what this young man had in his cabin.
How easy it would have been for the captain to get hold of the suit
case, empty it into a bag of his own, and go ashore, saying good-by
to the sea forever!
Captain Lawton might not have been guilty of this bit of villainy,
even if he had had the opportunity. But certainly he allowed his
thoughts to roam in this way, while a ruminative smile moved his
hard lips.
John Garrison Rayne, familiar with the look of cupidity that steals
over the faces of some men, divined pretty well what was passing in
Captain Lawton’s mind. He brought the commander to himself
sharply, by remarking, in a matter-of-fact tone:
 “This stuff seems to be all right. I don’t see that anything is
missing. But I’ll have to compare them with my list before I can be
sure.”
He shoveled the jewelry back into the suit case as if he had no
personal interest in the valuables, and shut the case with a snap.
“You will have two men to guard my prisoner, Captain Lawton,” he
said shortly. “I shall have to hold you responsible for his safe-
keeping. But I am not afraid that he will get away. I don’t see how he
can, so long as he is kept down here. He couldn’t get out of any of
the portholes.”
“He won’t get away!” grunted Captain Lawton. “I’ll answer for that.”
“All right! You’ll be paid for any trouble you have to take, of course.
I’ll take this stuff ashore to my hotel, and keep it until I get
instructions from New York.”
“I’ll be glad to see it off my ship,” declared Captain Lawton. “If you
like, I’ll send a couple of men ashore with you, to help you guard the
stuff till you put it away. I suppose you’ll stow it in the hotel safe.”
“Yes,” answered Rayne carelessly. “That will be the best place for
it. Meantime, I can look after it myself. You will hear from me some
time during the day.”
He took the suit case in his hand, and, with a grim smile under his
heavy mustache, walked to the companionway and up to the deck.
His impulse was to make a rush for his boat. But the Apache had
too much control of himself to yield to such an inclination. Instead, he
sauntered over to the head of the sea ladder and shouted to his two
oarsmen.
“Aye, aye, sir!” responded one of them, as they brought the craft
up to the small platform at the foot of the ladder. “All right, sir!”
With a slow and dignified step, John Garrison Rayne went down
the ladder. At the foot of it he stopped to wave a farewell to Captain
Lawton, who, with his first mate, Van Cross, was at the top. Then he
stepped into his boat and sat down in the stern, the valuable suit
case between his knees.
 No sooner had the men got the boat clear of the steamer than
Rayne leaned forward and told them to hurry with all their might.
“It will be half a dollar extra for each of you if you put me ashore
inside of fifteen minutes,” he told them. “I have to meet a gentleman
who is going away on the train. Hurry!”
“Aye, aye, sir!” came in chorus from both of the oarsmen.
The promise of a tip has just as potent an effect in Porto Rico as it
has in any other part of the world. They rowed with savage
eagerness, and promised to get to shore in twelve minutes.
As the yawl cut its way through the heaving waters, John Garrison
Rayne mused over his good luck. He hugged the suit case between
his knees, and tried to decide on his next move.
“It was dead easy!” he muttered. “All I had to do was to get rid of
that gray wig, put on the mustache, and buy the clothes I wanted out
of the captain’s six hundred. Then I stepped into this boat, went up to
the Cherokee, clapped handcuffs on Paul Clayton, picked up the suit
case—after making sure it had the things in it—and quietly rowed
away. Why, it was like taking candy from a baby.”
He chuckled so loudly that both of his oarsmen looked quickly at
him in astonishment. He recovered himself immediately, and
frowning severely at them, told them to pull harder.
It was just as he administered this rebuke to his men that he
glanced over to the left, where a motor boat was chugging its way
across the harbor.
There were three men in it.
At first they were too far away for him to make out who they were.
Then, as the morning sun fell full upon their faces, he recognized
them.
They were Nick Carter, Chick, and Patsy Garvan!
The motor boat swept past, causing the yawl to rock violently in its
back wash.
 Rayne bent over and appeared to be tying the lace of his shoe.
His face was thus entirely concealed from the occupants of the
motor boat.
When the danger of recognition was past, he hissed to his two
perspiring oarsmen:
“Make it in eight minutes, and I’ll give you a dollar apiece!”
The little yawl fairly leaped through the water, as the men put in all
the strength and activity they could muster.
“They’re going to the ship,” muttered Rayne. “I’ve got to be out of
the way quickly. There may be a way of signaling shore. If there is
anything like that to be done, that infernal Nick Carter will know how
to do it.”
 CHAPTER IV.
A PUZZLE FOR THE SKIPPER.
It was not without thoroughly understanding the situation that John
Garrison Rayne told himself he would be in danger if he did not get
away before Nick Carter could communicate with the shore.
Even if it should be impossible to telegraph, that motor boat was a
swift-moving craft, and it would take very little time for it to get to the
wharf from the Cherokee, if the famous detective should determine
to go, instead of trying to signal.
It happened that Rayne was just stepping on the quay as the
motor boat swirled alongside of the steamer.
Nick Carter, no longer dressed as a sailor, but in a neat, light,
business suit, stepped upon the platform at the foot of the sea
ladder, while his two assistants—who also had changed their attire—
followed him closely.
Nick had removed the heavy beard he had worn as Joe Sykes, the
boatswain, and there was little in his face to remind one of the sailor
except his penetrating dark eyes.
Patsy and Chick, too, had changed their faces, so that no one on
board the steamer would be likely to suspect that they ever had been
members of the crew, taking the hard work, and the equally hard
language of the bullying mate, all as part of the day’s work.
Captain Lawton was worried over the taking away of the suit case.
He had begun to feel misgivings, and it had disturbed his nerves. So
he scowled when he saw three strangers boarding his ship.
“What do you want?” was his inhospitable greeting, as Nick gained
the top of the ladder.
“I am a detective, and I’ve come to see your passenger, Paul
Clayton,” replied Nick Carter, as he looked the skipper up and down.
“He took passage with you under the name of Miles. Where is he?”
“Search me,” grinned the captain.
“He’s on board your vessel, isn’t he?” demanded Nick sternly. “A
passenger of yours?”
“No. He ain’t nothing of the kind. You say you’re a detective. Well,
you’re a little late. Another detective, from New York, has been here
and arrested him. So he isn’t a passenger. He’s a prisoner.”
“Impossible!” ejaculated Nick Carter.
“Nothing impossible about it,” sneered the captain. “He’s down in
the cabin he’s had since we left New York. Only now it’s a cell,
instead of a stateroom, and I have two of my men watching to see
that he doesn’t get away. That’s all there is to it.”
“How do you know this man who arrested Paul Clayton—or Miles
—is a detective?”
The captain held out a card, which Nick Carter took and scanned
hastily.
“Detective Lieutenant Sawyer!” murmured Nick, reading from the
card. “I don’t know of any New York detective by that name.”
“Well, anyhow, he was here, and he’s gone ashore with the stolen
property, in a suit case. If you look over there, you can just make him
out, landing on the wharf from a yawl.”
“Gee!” whispered Patsy. “I believe that’s right. Eh, Chick?”
“Looks like his walk,” returned Chick.
“I wish we could make out his face. What kind of clothes do you
suppose he has on? We’re going to have a fine time running him
down,” was Patsy’s low-toned remark—in which there was plenty of
confidence, however.
Nick Carter was thinking quickly. He had seen the man getting out
of the rowboat at the wharf. But it was too far to make him out for
certain, and Nick had very little faith in Captain Lawton’s integrity.
“I’ll go down and see the prisoner, anyhow,” he said sharply.
 “I don’t know whether you can,” hesitated Captain Lawton. “I have
orders to keep the man safe, but nothing was said to me about
allowing any one to see him.”
Nick Carter turned back the lapel of his waistcoat and showed a
jeweled badge. It was very seldom that he exhibited this insignia. But
there were occasionally times, like the present, when it was
desirable that he should prove his identity.
Captain Lawton leaned forward to scan the badge. He saw that it
bore the arms of New York State, and that in the center was a
medallion portrait of the man who wore it.
But the skipper was naturally suspicious, and he did not accept
even this proof immediately—or pretended he did not. As a matter of
fact, he had seen Nick Carter before, in his proper person, and he
was obliged to admit to himself that this calm, self-possessed man
seemed to be the same.
“If that badge is straight, it is all right,” he growled. “Only I do not
know that.”
“Here’s my card,” said Nick impatiently, as he took one of his cards
from its case. “You may see my name and address there.”
“‘Nicholas Carter, Madison Avenue, New York City,’” read the
captain. “It looks as if you might be the man you say you are.”
“You say that this other man, who pretended he was a detective,
has taken the jewels stolen from Stephen Reed, and that it was he
we just now saw climbing out of a small boat at the wharf?”
demanded Nick, who was tired of arguing about his own identity.
“He took the jewelry,” replied, Lawton, more surly than ever. “I
have not had proof that he was a fake detective any more than I
know you’re a real one.”
“We’ll prove who I am by the chief of police of San Juan,”
interrupted Nick sharply. “But there is no time to argue longer about
that. I’ll send my men ashore, and I dare say they will round up this
man. He seems to have fooled you completely.”
“There ain’t nobody can fool me!” grunted the captain indignantly.
 “Chick!” called out Nick, turning his back on the wrathful Lawton.
“You and Patsy go and see the chief of police, give him my
compliments, and tell him to look out for this man. Most likely the
rascal will try to get out of town right away.”
“Who are we to look for?” asked Chick.
“The Apache.”
“Who’s that?” asked the captain.
“Gee! You don’t want to get in his way. That’s all!” grinned Patsy.
“He’d steal the ship from under you while you was giving orders to
stop him.”
Patsy said this with so much earnestness, even though he
grinned, that Captain Lawton was visibly impressed, while Nick
Carter frowned at his irrepressible assistant.
“You don’t want me to tell the chief of police why we want the
Apache, do you?” whispered Chick in Nick Carter’s ear.
“No. Let him think it is a smuggling case. Anyhow, he won’t ask too
many questions if you tell him it is my case. He knows me.”
“What’s his name? Douglas, isn’t it?”
“Yes. He knows you as well as me.”
By this time Captain Lawton had come to the conclusion that it
was the real Nick Carter who stood before him, and he desired to
give so eminent a crime detector all the aid he could. But it never
entered his head that this well-groomed man could be the sloppy-
looking Joe Sykes, who had sailed in the Cherokee as a boatswain.
“This man who took the jewelry was about the same height as
yourself, Mr. Carter,” he volunteered. “He wore a blue suit of clothes,
that didn’t fit any too well, and his cap had a gold band around it, as
if he might be an officer of some kind.”
“Thank you,” responded Nick. “I dare say we shall get him before
we are much older. But we’ll talk more about that after I’ve got my
men here away.”
 “All right, Mr. Carter! Anything you say.”
“Look here, Chick!”
“Well, chief?”
“When you have finished your work—seen the chief of police, and
made any inquiries you can, come to the Ionic Hotel. I’ll go there
when I get through on the ship. Now hustle, boys!”
“All right!” grinned Patsy. “We’ll round up this citizen we’re after
before he knows whether he’s afloat or ashore. Eh, Chick?”
“We’ll do our best,” was Chick’s earnest response.
The two assistants went down the ladder, and Nick Carter leaned
over the side of the steamer, watching them make good time to the
shore.
Even when the motor boat had almost covered the expanse of
water between the Cherokee and the wharf, the detective remained
in the same position. He was reflecting. He had the faculty of being
able to do that anywhere, even with all kinds of confusion around
him.
The new complication of the theft of the Stephen Reed jewelry just
when it seemed as if the troubles of Paul Clayton might be over, was
bad enough. But the added fact that the Apache was posing as a
detective, and might even get the police to help him, unwittingly, to
get away, made it worse.
Nick had gone ashore originally to look for Rayne, but had not
been able to hear anything about a man answering the description of
the cunning rascal. Then he had decided that he could do more
effective work in behalf of Paul Clayton by dropping his disguise of
Joe Sykes and cutting off all connection with the Cherokee as a
member of its crew.
There would be nothing gained by continuing on board as a
boatswain, with Captain Lawton and Van Cross giving him orders.
Neither was it desirable that Chick and Patsy should be sailors,
either.
 Having come to this decision, it had not been difficult for all three
to get rid of their make-ups, and so well did they accomplish this that
Captain Lawton had not the slightest suspicion they ever had been
on his ship before.
“Do you want to see the prisoner, Mr. Carter?” asked the captain,
in a tone of respect that was rather amusing, considering how surly
and insolent he had been at first.
“Yes. Take me to him, please,” answered Nick. “And I should be
glad if you will have a boat ready to put me ashore when I have
looked over things below.”
“Sure you shall have a boat,” assented the captain promptly.
 CHAPTER V.
NICK HAS HIS OWN WAY.
Two men were guarding the top of the companionway during the
colloquy between Nick Carter and the captain, but, at a signal from
the latter, they drew aside to allow the detective to go down to the
prisoner.
The man at the cabin door opened it as Nick Carter stepped
forward, for he knew the detective could not have got below without
special permission from the captain. Besides, he had heard enough
of the argument on deck to know pretty nearly all that had taken
place.
Paul Clayton was sitting on the edge of his berth, his chin on his
breast, and evidently in deep thought. He looked up sharply as Nick
Carter went into the cabin, a question in his glance.
Instinctively, he made an effort to hide the handcuffs under a
blanket on the berth. Then he laughed bitterly and brought his hands
forward to rest on his knees, as if defying the opinion of his visitor,
whatever it might be.
“I beg your pardon,” said Nick, with a smile. “I don’t suppose you
want to wear these decorations any longer than you are obliged. Let
me see if I can take them off.”
Paul Clayton stared hard at the detective. He did not know him,
now that he had removed the clothing and beard of Joe Sykes, the
boatswain. But it seemed as if there were a familiar note in his voice.
“May I ask——” he began.
“Not just now,” interrupted Nick. “Let me look at these bracelets of
yours.”
One close look at the handcuffs was enough for Nick Carter.
 Taking from his pocket a jackknife, he pressed a spring, and a
steel rod shot forth. With this he opened the handcuffs so quickly
and easily that the sailor at the door, who had been watching him,
gave vent to an involuntary grunt of admiration.
“I’m responsible for this,” remarked Nick, looking at the sailor.
“Captain Lawton will tell you.”
“Aye, aye, sir!” returned the man, as he moved away from the
door.
“Now we can talk more comfortably,” was the detective’s smiling
suggestion. “No sense in wearing those things that I can see.”
“Who are you?” faltered Paul Clayton.
“You ought to know me,” returned Nick lightly. “We sailed from
New York together.”
He said this with the drawl he had used as Joe Sykes, and Clayton
started up from the bunk in astonishment.
“The bos’n?”
“Exactly! But, when I use my own name, I am Nicholas Carter.”
“The detective?”
“Yes. But you need not speak so loudly. Don’t let us talk about
that.”
“But,” protested Clayton, “this is amazing.”
“Never mind. Tell me what this man said who came and got the
jewelry away from you.”
“The New York detective?”
“Yes.”
Paul Clayton—still wondering, as he looked at his visitor—went
over in detail all that had passed between him and John Garrison
Rayne.
Nick Carter compressed his lips and his brows came together over
his eyes as he listened.
 “What a scoundrel the fellow is!” was the detective’s comment at
the end. “Well, Clayton, that means that we have to go after him.”
Clayton got to his feet and seemed eager to move out of the cabin
without delay.
“To think that I was so easily cheated of the jewels I stole——”
“Not that you stole, Mr. Clayton,” interrupted Nick. “Let us say ‘the
jewels you were minding for Mr. Reed.’ That sounds much better,
and it is the truth, isn’t it?”
“Yes, indeed it is,” assented the young man, with a wan smile of
gratitude. “I took the jewelry. But I did not use any of it, and when I
had got over the first madness that made me take it from my uncle’s
room, I never had a thought but to return it as soon as possible.”
“But you came to Porto Rico to do it?”
“Because I was afraid that, if I sent the jewels back from New York,
Stephen Reed would put the police on my heels. I did want a chance
to begin life over again and prove that I am honest at heart,” replied
Clayton pathetically. “If I were once sent to prison, I never could hold
up my head again.”
“Well, we will get the jewelry, and back it will go to Mr. Reed. It
may be some little trouble, but I believe I can rely on you to keep at it
till we round up this blackguard who has tried to fool us all.”
“You are quite sure this detective was not really a detective,”
asked Clayton. “He did not look to me at all like the man I knew as
James Boris on this ship.”
“Nevertheless, he is the same. He took the name of James Boris
on this vessel. He is John Garrison Rayne, the Apache. I know that.”
“If there were any mistake, and he really represented the police,
he would have me arrested——”
“My dear Clayton!” interrupted Nick. “Why will you harp on that?
You and I both know that we had him a prisoner on this ship, after
taking the suit case away from him in the engine room. Then he
managed to get free and dive overboard.”
 “I suppose it was this Boris who fell or jumped off the ship in the
early morning,” murmured Paul.
“Beyond all question. He swam to shore, got a new suit of clothes,
altered the look of his face, and came back, in the guise of a
detective, to steal the jewelry for the second time. There is only one
man I know of who could carry out such a trick successfully, and that
is the man I am going to find—John Garrison Rayne—the fellow you
know as James Boris.”
“Can I go with you? Or shall I have to stay here?” asked Clayton.
“Remember, you found me a handcuffed prisoner, and the captain
promised that I should not get away.”
“I’ll attend to that,” replied Nick briefly. “Come with me.”
The sailor who had been at the door of the cabin was on the
companionway, talking to the two men at the top, one of whom was
Clegg, the boatswain. He was telling of what had happened in Paul
Clayton’s stateroom.
“I don’t know anything about it,” rumbled Clegg. “But there’s
Captain Lawton. We can ask him.”
It was at this moment that Nick Carter pushed Clayton ahead of
him up the stairs, and led him to the deck.
Clegg stepped aside involuntarily before Nick Carter’s masterful
manner, although not without glancing at the captain, to see what he
would do in such a strange situation.
“Is the boat ready?” asked Nick, stepping up to Lawton.
“I’ll have it ready in a brace of shakes.”
The captain turned to give an order to Clegg, who passed it
forward, and the activity of half a dozen sailors gave promise that the
boat would be at the ladder in a few moments.
“I am going ashore—with Mr.—er—Miles,” announced Nick
carelessly.
“Well, I don’t know about that,” hesitated the captain. “I don’t feel
as if this passenger ought to go without something more being
known about him. I believe you are really Nicholas Carter, and that
the other detective is a fraud. Still, if he should turn out to be the
genuine article, where would I be?”
“He is not the genuine article,” returned Nick. “So you need not
speculate on that.”
“But, if he should be, you see, I’d be on the rocks—piled up, with
my back broke and out of the game for good.”
Captain Lawton shook his head with an air of ponderous wisdom
that tried Nick Carter’s patience sorely.
“You have my word that he’s a fraud,” the detective reminded him
sternly. “I thought that would be enough. If you like, I’ll sign a paper
taking all the responsibility. Only, let’s have that boat!”
“Well, all right! Let it go at that!” grumbled the captain; “I guess I’m
going to get the worst of it. I always do. Boat, there!”
He bellowed this last at his men, and Nick Carter went down the
ladder, with Paul Clayton following him into the boat.
Four sailors rowed them to shore, and it seemed to the detective
as if they were trying to move as lazily as they possibly could.
“Pity they don’t hurry!” broke out Clayton impatiently.
“It wouldn’t do any good,” returned Nick. “Our man has got a good
start, and a few minutes more or less in crossing the harbor won’t
make much difference. When we get ashore we can hustle.
Meanwhile, we shall have to take it philosophically.”
The boat trip was over at last, and Nick Carter, who was familiar
with the beautiful city of San Juan, walked with Paul Clayton along
the shaded avenues until he got to the Ionic Hotel.
Situated on the side of a hill, and overlooking the harbor, the hotel
was a favorite stopping place for visitors, and one could be sure of
hearing most of the gossip of Porto Rico if he lounged about the
lobby for an hour or so.
This was one of the reasons that Nick Carter had taken up his
abode there. Another was that he knew John Garrison Rayne’s love
of luxury, and he felt pretty sure that the Apache would be at the
Ionic if he thought it safe.
“It ought to be easy to catch him, I should think,” observed Paul
Clayton, as Nick Carter said this.
“Can’t tell,” answered the detective. “I have had dealings with this
scoundrel before, and he is as cunning as a rat. However, we’ll go
into the grill room and have a good meal, anyhow. I expect my two
men here soon.”
The anticipation of the detective proved to be correct. He and Paul
Clayton had not yet begun on the luncheon Nick Carter had ordered,
when his quick eye made out Chick and Patsy strolling along the big
lobby, looking in every direction, but in a careless way that disarmed
suspicion.
Suddenly Chick caught sight of his chief, and whispered to Patsy
to stay behind for a moment or two.
“All right, Chick!” responded Patsy. “I see what you mean. There’s
the chief over there. You go slowly to him, and I’ll join you afterward.”
These precautions were rather elaborate, perhaps. But the two
assistants knew that they were dealing with a dangerous man in
Rayne, and that he was quite likely to have some spies at work in
the hotel, even if he should not be there himself.
“What do you know?” asked Nick casually, as he bent over his
plate, when Chick and Patsy were both seated at the table. “Have
some luncheon and answer me cautiously.”
“We haven’t found out a thing,” acknowledged Chick.
“Haven’t seen or heard anything about him,” added Patsy.
“Exactly! Just what I expected,” returned Nick Carter coolly. “Let
me help you to some salad, Mr. Clayton.”
The detective did the honors of the table with as calm and smiling
an air as if there were not a thing on his mind. But his brain was
working busily.
 CHAPTER VI.
HOW NICK GOT A LIGHT.
It was two days later. Nick Carter, his two assistants, and Paul
Clayton were in the bedroom of Nick in the Ionic Hotel.
All four looked perplexed and disgusted. Patsy Garvan, who was
standing at the window, gazing moodily across the harbor, indulged
in various expletives in an undertone, and wished he had somebody
whose head it would be permissible to punch.
“If I don’t get a chance to lick somebody soon,” he muttered, “I’ll
get a cramp in my elbow. This case is the kind of thing that makes a
man go stale. Gee! To think that a dub like John Garrison Rayne can
keep out of our way on an island that you can almost spit across!
Jumping cats! I’d rather go out and——”
“Patsy!”
It was the voice of Nick Carter. Garvan swung around.
“What is it, chief? Anything I can do?”
“Only stop your growling over there,” answered the detective,
good-humoredly. “It’s got on your nerves, I dare say. But so it has on
those of the rest of us. Grumbling and complaining never moved
even a pebble out of the road yet. Brace up, and let’s talk about it in
a sensible way.”
Nick Carter was not obliged to mollify his younger assistant in this
way. A gruff order would have quieted Patsy Garvan just as
effectively. But it was a principle with the eminent detective to make
his subordinates feel that they were his partners, rather than just his
employees, and he had found that it paid.
“We’ve been pretty nearly all over Porto Rico, looking for this
fellow,” returned Patsy. “I was thinking we might as well try
somewhere else.”