"In my country," he protested, "according to our customs, it was enough."

The answer satisfied and relieved Roddy. It told him all he wished to know. It was now evident that Vega's agent had seen only the first meeting, that he was not aware that Inez followed after Roddy, or that the next morning by the seashore they had again met. The American brought the interview to an abrupt finish.

"I refuse," said Roddy loftily, "to discuss this matter with you further. If the mother of Senorita Rojas wishes it, I shall be happy to answer any questions she may ask. I have done nothing that requires explanation or apology. I am responsible to no one. Good-night."

"Wait!" commanded Vega. "You will find that here you cannot so easily avoid responsibilities. You have struck me. Well, we have other customs, which gentlemen——"

"I am entirely at your service," said Roddy. He made as magnificent a bow as though he himself had descended from a line of Spanish grandees. Vega's eyes lit with pleasure. He was now playing a part in which he felt assured he appeared to advantage. He almost was grateful to Roddy for permitting him to reestablish himself in his own esteem.

"My friends shall wait upon you," he said.

"Whenever you like," Roddy answered. He started up the deck and returned again to Vega. "Understand me," he whispered, "as long as I'm enjoying the hospitality of your country I accept the customs of your country. If you'd made such a proposition to me in New York I'd have laughed at you." Roddy came close to Vega and emphasized his words with a pointed finger. "And understand this! We have quarrelled over politics. You made an offensive remark about Alvarez; I defended him and struck you. You now demand satisfaction. That is what happened. And if you drag the name of any woman into this I won't give you satisfaction. I will give you a thrashing until you can't stand or see."

Roddy found Peter in the smoking-room, and beckoning him on deck, told him what he had done.

"You're a nice White Mouse!" cried Peter indignantly. "You're not supposed to go about killing people; you're supposed to save lives."

"No one is ever killed in a duel," said Roddy; "I'll fire in the air, and he will probably miss me. I certainly hope so. But there will be one good result. It will show Alvarez that I'm not a friend of Vega's, nor helping him in his revolution."

"You don't have to shoot a man to show you're not a friend of his," protested Peter.

They were interrupted by the hasty approach of Vega's chief advisers and nearest friends, General Pulido and Colonel Ramon.

"Pino seems in a hurry," said Roddy. "I had no idea he was so bloodthirsty."

"Colonel Vega," began Pulido abruptly, "has just informed us of the unfortunate incident. We have come to tell you that no duel can take place. It is monstrous. The life of Colonel Vega does not belong to him, it belongs to the Cause. We will not permit him to risk it needlessly. You, of all people, should see that. You must apologize."

The demand, and the peremptory tone in which it was delivered, caused the fighting blood of Roddy's Irish grandfathers to bubble in his veins.

"'Must' and 'apologize!'" protested Roddy, in icy tones; "Those are difficult words, gentlemen."

"Consider," cried Pulido, "what great events hang upon the life of Colonel Vega."

"My own life is extremely interesting to me," said Roddy. "But I have done nothing which needs apology."

Colonel Ramon now interrupted anxiously.

"You risked your life for Pino. Why now do you wish to take it? Think of his importance to Venezuela, of the happiness he will bring his country, and think what his loss would mean to your own father."

"My father!" exclaimed Roddy. "What has my father to do with this?"

The two Venezuelans looked at each other in bewilderment, and then back at Roddy sternly and suspiciously.

"Are you jesting?" demanded General Pulido.

"Never been more serious in my life," said Roddy.

The two officers searched his face eagerly.

"It is as Pino says," exclaimed Pulido, with sudden enlightenment. "He is telling the truth!"

"Of course I'm telling the truth!" cried Roddy fiercely. "Are you looking for a duel, too?"

"Tell him!" cried Pulido.

"But Mr. Forrester's orders!" protested Colonel Ramon.

"He is more dangerous," declared Pulido, "knowing nothing, than he would be if he understood."

He cast a rapid glance about him. With a scowl, his eyes finally rested upon Peter.

"I'll be within knockout distance if you want me," said that young man to Roddy, and moved to the rail opposite.

When he had gone, Pulido bent eagerly forward.

"Do you not know," he demanded, "what it is your father is doing in our country?"

Roddy burst forth impatiently, "No!" he protested. "And I seem to be the only man in the country who doesn't."

The two officers crowded close to him. In sepulchral tones, Pulido exclaimed dramatically. He spoke as though he were initiating Roddy into a secret order.

"Then understand," he whispered, "that your father supports Pino Vega with five million bolivars; that Vega, whose life you are seeking, is the man your father means to make President of Venezuela. Now do you understand?"

For a long time Roddy remained silent. Then he exclaimed in tones of extreme exasperation:

"I understand," he said, "that, if my father had given me his telephone number, he would have saved me a lot of trouble. No wonder everybody suspects me."

"And now," declared Pulido anxiously, "you are one of us!"

"I am nothing of the sort," snapped Roddy. "If my father does not wish to tell me his plans I can't take advantage of what I learn of them from strangers. I shall go on," he continued with suspicious meekness, "with the work Father has sent me here to do. Who am I, that I should push myself into the politics of your great country?"

"And the duel?" demanded Pulido.

"I am sure," hastily interjected Colonel Ramon, "if Colonel Vega withdraws his offensive remark about President Alvarez, Mr. Forrester will withdraw his blow."

Roddy failed to see how a blow that had left a raw spot on the chin of Pino Vega could by mutual agreement be made to vanish. But if to the minds of the Spanish-Americans such a miracle were possible, it seemed ungracious not to consent to it.

"If I understand you," asked Roddy, "Colonel Vega withdraws his offensive remark?"

The seconds of Pino Vega nodded vigorously.

"Then," continued Roddy, "as there was no offensive remark, there could have been no blow, and there can be no duel."

Roddy's summing up delighted the Venezuelans, and declaring that the honor of all was satisfied, they bowed themselves away.

Next morning at daybreak the fortress of San Carlos rose upon the horizon, and by ten o'clock Roddy was again at work, threatening a gang of Jamaica coolies. But no longer he swore at them with his former wholeheartedness. His mind was occupied with other things. Now, between him and his work, came thoughts of the tunnel that for half a century had lain hidden from the sight of man; and of Inez, elusive, beautiful, distracting, now galloping recklessly toward him down a sunlit road, now a motionless statue standing on a white cliff, with the waves of the Caribbean bending and bowing before her.

With the return of the exiles to Porto Cabello, that picturesque seaport became a place of gay reunions, of banquets, of welcome and rejoicing. The cafes again sprang to life. The Alameda was crowded with loitering figures and smart carriages, whilst the vigilance and activity of the government secret police increased. Roddy found himself an object of universal interest. As the son of his father, and as one who had prevented the assassination of Pino Vega, the members of the government party suspected him. While the fact that in defense of Alvarez he had quarrelled with Vega puzzled them greatly.

"If I can't persuade them I am with the government," said Roddy, "I can at least keep them guessing."

A week passed before Peter and Roddy were able, without arousing suspicion, and without being followed, to visit El Morro. They approached it apparently by accident, at the end of a long walk through the suburbs, and so timed their progress that, just as the sun set, they reached the base of the hill on which the fortress stood. They found that on one side the hill sloped gently toward the city, and on the other toward the sea. The face toward the city, except for some venturesome goats grazing on its scant herbage, was bare and deserted. The side that sloped to the sea was closely overgrown with hardy mesquite bushes and wild laurel, which would effectually conceal any one approaching from that direction. What had been the fortress was now only a broken wall, a few feet in height. It was covered with moss, and hidden by naked bushes with bristling thorns. Inside the circumference of the wall was a broken pavement of flat stones. Between these, trailing vines had forced their way, their roots creeping like snakes over the stones and through their interstices, while giant, ill-smelling weeds had turned the once open court-yard into a maze. These weeds were sufficiently high to conceal any one who did not walk upright, and while Peter kept watch outside the walled ring, Roddy, on his hands and knees, forced his way painfully from stone to stone. After a quarter of an hour of this slow progress he came upon what once had been the mouth of the tunnel. It was an opening in the pavement corresponding to a trap in a roof, or to a hatch in the deck of a ship. The combings were of stone, and were still intact, as were also the upper stones of a flight of steps that led down to the tunnel. But below the level of the upper steps, blocking further descent, were two great slabs of stone. They were buried deep in a bed of cement, and riveted together and to the walls of the tunnel by bands of iron. Roddy signalled for Peter to join him, and in dismay they gazed at the formidable mass of rusty iron, cement and stone.

"We might as well try to break into the Rock of Gibraltar!" gasped Peter.

"Don't think of the difficulties," begged Roddy. "Think that on the other side of that barrier an old man is slowly dying. I admit it's going to be a tough job. It will take months. But whatever a man has put together, a man can pull to pieces."

"I also try to see the bright side of life," returned Peter coldly, "but I can't resist pointing out that the other end of your tunnel opens into a prison. Breaking into a bank I can understand, but breaking into a prison seems almost like looking for trouble."

The dinner that followed under the stars in their own court-yard did much to dispel Peter's misgivings, and by midnight, so assured was he of their final success, that he declared it now was time that General Rojas should share in their confidence.

"To a man placed as he is," he argued, "hope is everything; hope is health, life. He must know that his message has reached the outside. He must feel that some one is working toward him. He is the entombed miner, and, to keep heart in him, we must let him hear the picks of the rescuing party."

"Fine!" cried Roddy, "I am for that, too. I'll get my friend Vicenti, the prison doctor, to show you over the fortress to-morrow. And we'll try to think of some way to give Rojas warning."

They at once departed for the cafe of the Dos Hermanos, where the gay youth of Porto Cabello were wont to congregate, and where they found the doctor. During the evening he had been lucky at baccarat, and had been investing his winnings in sweet champagne. He was in a genial mood. He would be delighted to escort the friend of Senor Roddy over the fortress, or to any other of the historical places of interest for which Porto Cabello was celebrated.

"Where Alvarez punishes traitors," exclaimed Roddy in a loud tone, "is what we most desire to see. And," he added, scowling darkly through the smoke-laden cafe, "if we could see others who are still at liberty in the same place we would be better pleased."

The remark, although directed at no one in particular, caused a sensation, and led several of those who had been for two years in exile to hurriedly finish their chocolate ices and seek their homes.

After making an appointment for the morrow with Doctor Vicenti, and when they were safe in their own patio, Peter protested mildly.

"Your devotion to Alvarez," he said, "is too sudden. You overdo it. Besides, it's making an expert liar of you. Don't get the habit."

"As the son of the man who is trying to destroy Alvarez," declared Roddy, "my position is extremely delicate. And next week it will be more so. McKildrick got a cable to-day saying that Sam Caldwell is arriving here by the next boat. His starting for Porto Cabello the very moment Vega arrives here means trouble for Alvarez, and that the trouble is coming soon. For, wherever you find Sam Caldwell, there you will find plotting, bribery, and all uncleanliness. And if I'm to help Rojas out of prison I must have nothing to do with Sam. Alvarez recognizes no neutrals. The man who is not with him is against him. So I must be the friend of Alvarez and of his creatures. For public occasions, my hand must be against the F. C. C., against Vega, and especially against Sam Caldwell, because everybody knows he is the personal agent of my father. Vega's friends know that my father treats me as though he could not trust me. The Alvarez crowd must know that, too. Even as it is, they think my being down here is a sort of punishment. None of them has ever worked in his life, and the idea of a rich man's son sweating at a donkey-engine with a gang of Conch niggers, means to them only that my father and I have quarrelled. It will be my object hereafter to persuade them that that is so. If I have to act a bit, or lie a bit, what are a few lies against the freedom of such a man as Rojas? So, to-morrow, if you should be so lucky as to see Rojas, don't be a bit surprised if I should insult that unhappy gentleman grossly. If I do, within an hour the fact will be all over the cafes and the plazas, and with Alvarez it would be counted to me for righteousness. Much that I may have to do of the same sort will make the gentlemen of Vega's party consider me an ungrateful son, and very much of a blackguard. They may, in their turn, insult me, and want to fight more duels. But it's all in the game. To save that old man is my only object for living, my only interest. I don't care how many revolutions I tread on. I would sacrifice everybody and everything—for him."

After his long speech, Roddy drew a deep breath and glared at Peter as though inviting contradiction. But, instead of contradicting him, Peter smiled skeptically and moved to his bedroom, which opened upon the court-yard. At the door he turned.

"'And the woman,'" he quoted, "'was very fair.'"

The next morning the two Americans met Doctor Vicenti in the guard-room of the fortress, and under his escort began a leisurely inspection of the prison. They themselves saw to it that it was leisurely, and by every device prolonged it. That their interest in the one prisoner they had come to see might not be suspected, they pretended a great curiosity in the doctor's patients and in all the other prisoners. After each visit to a cell they would invite Vicenti to give them the history of its inmate. They assured him these little biographies, as he related them, were of surpassing brilliancy and pathos. In consequence, Vicenti was so greatly flattered that, before they reached the cell of General Rojas, each succeeding narrative had steadily increased in length, and the young doctor had become communicative and loquacious.

When at last they had descended to the lowest tier of cells, Vicenti paused and pointed toward an iron-barred double door.

"In there," he whispered to Peter, "is our most distinguished political prisoner, General Rojas. There is no one Alvarez would so willingly see dead. And, if he keeps him here a month longer, Alvarez will have his wish."

"But they say the man is a traitor," protested Roddy.

The doctor shrugged his shoulders.

"In my country," he answered, "every man who is not for the government is a traitor."

He directed the turnkey who accompanied them to unlock the gate of the cell, and with a gesture invited the Americans to enter. As they did so, each dropped his right hand into his outside coat pocket. When it came forth again, concealed under each little finger was a tiny roll of rice-paper torn from a book of cigarette-wrappers. On each, in pencil, was written, "54-4" and the word "Hope." The night previous Peter and Roddy had prepared the papers, on the chance that while one of them occupied the attention of the guide, the other could slip his message to Rojas. Roddy had insisted upon the use of rice-paper, because it could be swallowed without indigestion, and instead of the word "Hope," had preferred a freehand drawing of an anchor, arguing that the anchor was the emblem of hope, and was more picturesque than the written word. To this Peter had objected that while they knew an anchor signified hope, Rojas might not, and as they were risking their lives to get a message to him, it was important he should understand it. They compromised on the numerals, which would show Rojas his own cipher messages had been received and understood, and the word "Hope" was added to put heart into him and strengthen his desire to cling to life.

But on entering the cell they saw at once that there would be no chance to deliver their message. General Rojas was seated at a table some ten feet from them, and the turnkey, who had submitted with ill grace to the Americans entering any of the cells, and who seemed especially to resent their presence in this one, at once placed himself aggressively on guard.

As he did so he commanded sharply: "The visitors will not speak to the prisoner."

"That is understood," Vicenti answered.

The Americans saw a room some forty by twenty feet in size, with walls, arched ceiling and floor entirely of stone. There were no windows, but it was well lighted by candles, and the lanterns carried by Vicenti and the turnkey threw a full light into each corner. They saw a cot, a table, a chair, a number of shelves loaded to the bending point with books and, at one end of the cell, an immense archway. This archway had been blocked with stone, roughly hewn and held together by cement. At the first glance, it was obvious that this was the other entrance to the tunnel. As he beheld its solid front, the heart of each of the young men sank in dismay.

General Rojas had risen, and stood shading his eyes from the unaccustomed light of the lanterns.

"I have taken the liberty of intruding upon you," Vicenti was saying, "because these two gentlemen are interested in the history of the fortress."

General Rojas bowed gravely, and with a deprecatory gesture, glanced at the turnkey, as though to explain why he did not address them.

"This part of the fortress," Vicenti began hurriedly, "is very old. It was built in the sixteenth century, and was, I think, originally the messroom. It is now used only for the most important political prisoners."

For an instant there was an awkward silence, and then Roddy broke it with a laugh, short and contemptuous.

"You mean traitors," he sneered.

General Rojas straightened as suddenly as though Roddy had struck at him. The young doctor was no less moved. He turned on the American with an exclamation of indignation.

"You forget yourself, sir!" he said.

Though Peter had been warned that Roddy might try by insulting Rojas to make capital for himself, his insolence to a helpless old man was unpardonable. He felt his cheeks burn with mortification. The turnkey alone showed his pleasure, and grinned appreciatively. Roddy himself was entirely unashamed.

"I have no sympathy for such men!" he continued defiantly. "A murderer takes only human life; a traitor would take the life of his country. In the States," he cried hotly, "we make short work with traitors. We hang them!"

He wheeled furiously on Peter, as though Peter had contradicted him.

"I say we do," he exclaimed. "It's in the Constitution. It's the law. You've read it yourself. It's page fifty-four, paragraph four, of the Constitution of the United States. 'Punishment for Traitors.' Page fifty-four, paragraph four."

Apparently with sudden remorse at his impetuosity, he turned to the doctor.

"I beg your pardon," he exclaimed. "I did forget myself. But to me, men like that are intolerable."

Vicenti was not to be mollified.

"Then you had better avoid their presence," he said angrily.

With an impatient gesture he motioned the two Americans into the corridor, and in distress approached the prisoner.

"I apologize, sir," he said, "for having subjected you to such an incident."

But General Rojas made no answer. To his surprise, Vicenti found that the old man was suffering from the scene even more keenly than he had feared. Like one suddenly bereft of strength, General Rojas had sunk into his chair. His bloodless, delicate hands trembled upon the table. Great tears crept down his white, wrinkled face. In the two years through which the young doctor had watched his patient he had never before seen in his eyes the strange, mad light that now shone there. To the medical man, it meant only that the end was nearer than he had supposed. Shocked and grieved, the doctor made a movement to withdraw.

"I am deeply sorry," he murmured.

General Rojas raised his head. With an effort he drew over his face its customary, deathlike mask.

"It is nothing!" he exclaimed. "What is one more insult, what is one more degradation, when I know that my end is near!" He raised his voice; it was strangely vigorous, youthful, jubilant; it carried through the open bars to the far end of the corridor. "What does anything matter," he cried, "when I know—that the end is near!" His head sunk upon the table. To hide his tears, the General buried his face in his hands.

Outside, in the darkness, Peter clutched Roddy by the hand, and for an instant crushed it in his own.

"Do you hear?" he whispered. "He is answering you."

"Yes," stammered Roddy. The excitement or the dampness of the prison had set him shivering, and with the back of his hand he wiped the cold moisture from his forehead. He laughed mirthlessly. "Yes," he answered, "he understood me. And now, we've got to make good!"

That afternoon when the carriages of the aristocracy of Porto Cabello were solemnly circling the Plaza, Roddy came upon McKildrick, seated on one of the stone benches, observing the parade of local wealth and fashion with eyes that missed nothing and told nothing. McKildrick was a fine type of the self-taught American. He possessed a thorough knowledge of his profession, executive skill, the gift of handling men, and the added glory of having "worked his way up." He was tall, lean, thin-lipped, between thirty and forty years of age. During business hours he spoke only to give an order or to put a question. Out of working hours, in his manner to his assistants and workmen, he was genially democratic. He had, apparently, a dread of being alone, and was seldom seen without one of the younger engineers at his elbow. With them he was considered a cynic, the reason given for his cynicism being that "the Chief" had tried to "take a fall out of matrimony," and had come out of it a woman-hater. Officially he was Roddy's superior, but it never was possible for any one in the pay of the F. C. C. to forget that Roddy was the son of his father. Even McKildrick, in certain ways, acknowledged it. One way was, in their leisure moments, not to seek out Roddy, but to wait for the younger man to make advances. On this occasion, after for a brief moment contemplating McKildrick severely, Roddy, with an impatient exclamation, as though dismissing doubts and misgivings, sat down beside him.

"McKildrick," he began impetuously, "I want to ask you an impertinent question. It concerns your moral character."

McKildrick grinned appreciatively.

"We court investigation," he said.

"Under what pressure to the square inch," demanded Roddy, "would a secret confided to you be liable to burst its boiler?"

"I've never," returned the engineer, "had an accident of that kind."

"Good!" exclaimed Roddy. "Then suppose I said to you, 'McKildrick, I know where there's buried treasure, but I don't know how to get it out.' You would know. Now, if I led you to the buried treasure, would you, as an expert engineer, tell me how to dig it out, and then could you forget you'd given that advice and that you'd ever heard of the treasure?"

For a moment McKildrick considered this hypothetical case. Then he asked: "Which bank are you thinking of opening?"

Roddy rose abruptly.

"I'll show you," he exclaimed.

That Roddy was acting, in spite of secret misgivings, was so evident, that McKildrick good-naturedly demurred.

"Better not tell me anything," he protested, "that you'll be sorry for when you're sober."

Roddy shook his head, and, not until they had left the suburbs and the last fisherman's hut behind them and were on the open coast, did he again refer to the subject of their walk. Then he exclaimed suddenly; "And I forgot to mention that if Father finds out you advised me you will probably lose your job."

McKildrick halted in his tracks.

"It's a pity," he agreed, "that you forgot to mention that. As a rule, when I give expert advice I get a fat check for it."

"And what's more," continued Roddy, "if Alvarez finds it out you'll go to jail."

"Your piquant narrative interests me strangely," said McKildrick. "What else happens to me?"

"But, of course," explained Roddy reassuringly, "you'll tell them you didn't know what you were doing."

"How about your telling me what we are doing?" suggested the engineer.

"From this point," was Roddy's only reply, "you crawl on your hands and knees, or some one may see you."

The engineer bent his tall figure and, following in Roddy's trail, disappeared into the laurel bushes.

"Why shouldn't they see me?" he called.

"One looks so silly on his hands and knees," Roddy suggested.

For ten minutes, except for the rustle of the bushes, they pushed their way in silence, and then Roddy scrambled over the fallen wall of the fort, and pointed down at the entrance to the tunnel.

"The problem is," he said, "to remove these slabs from that staircase, and leave it in such shape that no one who is foolish enough to climb up here could see that they had been disturbed."

"Do you really think," demanded McKildrick, smiling sceptically, "that there is buried treasure under these stones?"

"Yes," answered Roddy anxiously, "a kind of buried treasure."

Cautiously McKildrick raised his head, and, as though to establish his bearings, surveyed the landscape. To the north he saw the city; to the east, a quarter of a mile away, the fortress, separated from the mainland by a stretch of water; and to the south, the wild mesquite bushes and laurel through which they had just come, stretching to the coast.

"Is this a serious proposition?" he asked.

"It's a matter of life and death," Roddy answered.

McKildrick seated himself on the flight of stone steps, and for some time, in silence, studied them critically. He drove the heel of his boot against the cement, and, with his eyes, tested the resistance of the rusty bars of iron.

"With a couple of men and crowbars, and a pinch of dynamite that wouldn't make a noise," he said at last, "I could open that in an hour."

"Could you put it back again?" asked Roddy.

There was a long pause.

"I guess," said McKildrick, "you'll have to let me in on the ground floor."

The sun had set and the air had turned cold and damp. Roddy seated himself beside his chief and pointed at the great slabs at their feet. His voice dropped to a whisper.

"It's like this," he began.

When, two hours later, they separated at the outskirts of the city, McKildrick had been initiated into the Brotherhood of the White Mice.

They had separated, agreeing that in the future the less they were seen together the better. But, in wishing to be alone, Roddy had another and more sentimental reason.

Each evening since his return from Curacao he had made a pilgrimage to the deserted home of the Rojas family, and, as the garden of Miramar ran down to meet the shore of the harbor, as did the garden of his own house, he was able to make the nocturnal visits by rowboat, and without being observed. Sometimes he was satisfied simply to lie on his oars opposite the empty mansion, and think of the young girl who, so soon, was to waken it to life; and again he tied his boat to a public wharf a hundred yards down the shore, and with the aid of the hanging vines pulled himself to the top of the seawall, and dropped into the garden. To a young man very much interested in a young woman, of whom he knew so little that it was possible to endow her with every grace of mind and character, and whose personal charm was never to be forgotten, these melancholy visits afforded much satisfaction. Even to pass the house was a pleasing exercise; and, separating from McKildrick, he turned his steps to the Alameda, the broad avenue shaded by a double line of trees that followed the curve of the harbor, and upon which the gates of Miramar opened. As he approached the house he saw, with surprise and pleasure, that in the future his midnight prowlings were at an end. Miramar was occupied. Every window blazed with light. In this light servants were moving hurriedly, and in front of the gates the Alameda was blocked with carts loaded with trunks and boxes.

Excited by the sight, Roddy hid himself in the shadows of the trees, and, unobserved, stood impatiently waiting for a chance to learn if the exiles had indeed returned to their own. He had not long to wait. In a little figure bustling among the carts, and giving many orders, he recognized his friend and ally, Pedro. Roddy instantly stepped into the glare of the electric globes until he was sure Pedro had seen him, and then again retreated into the shadow. In a moment the old servant was at his side.

"Is she here?" demanded Roddy.

Appreciating that in the world there could be only one "she," the little man nodded violently.

"Tell her," whispered Roddy, "I have seen her father, that he knows what we are trying to do. I must talk with the senorita at once. Ask her if she will come to the steps leading from the gardens to the wharf at any hour this evening. From my own house I can row there without being seen."

Again Pedro nodded happily.

"I will ask the senorita to be there at nine o'clock," he answered, "or, I will come myself."

The alternative did not strongly appeal to Roddy, but the mere fact that Inez was now in the same city with him, that even at that moment she was not a hundred yards from him, was in itself a reward.

He continued on down the Alameda, his head in the air, his feet treading on springs.

"Three hours!" his mind protested. "How can I wait three hours?"

In some fashion the hours passed, and at nine, just as over all the city the bugles were recalling the soldiers to the barracks, Roddy was waiting on the narrow stretch of beach that ran between the harbor and the gardens of Miramar.



VI

At the last moment Roddy had decided against taking the water route, and, leaving his rowboat at his own wharf, had, on foot, skirted the edge of the harbor. It was high tide, and the narrow strip of shore front on which he now stood, and which ran between the garden and the Rojas' private wharf, was only a few feet in width. Overhead the moon was shining brilliantly, but a procession of black clouds caused the stone steps and the tiny summer-house at the end of the wharf to appear and disappear like slides in a magic lantern.

In one of the moments of light the figures of a man and a woman loomed suddenly in the gateway of the garden. Pedro came anxiously forward, and Roddy leaped past him up the steps. He recognized Inez with difficulty. In the fashion of the peasant women she had drawn around her head and face a fringed, silk shawl, which left only her eyes visible, and which hung from her shoulders in lines that hid her figure. Roddy eagerly stretched out his hand, but the girl raised her own in warning and, motioning him to follow, passed quickly from the steps to the wharf. At its farther end was a shelter of thatched palm leaves. The sides were open, and half of the wharf was filled with moonlight, but over the other half the roof cast a black shadow, and into this Inez passed quickly. Roddy as quickly followed. His heart was leaping in a delightful tumult. His love of adventure, of the picturesque, was deeply gratified. As he saw it, the scene was set for romance; he was once more in the presence of the girl who, though he had but twice met her, and, in spite of the fact that she had promised herself to another man, attracted him more strongly than had any woman he had ever known. And the tiny wharf, the lapping of the waves against the stone sides, the moonlight, the purpose of their meeting, all seemed combined for sentiment, for a display of the more tender emotions.

But he was quickly disillusionized. The voice that issued from the shadows was brisk and incisive.

"You know," Inez began abruptly, in sharp disapprobation, "this won't do at all!"

Had she pushed him into the cold waters of the harbor and left him to the colder charity of the harbor sharks, Roddy could not have been more completely surprised. He stared at the cloaked figure blankly.

"I beg your pardon!" he stammered.

"You must not expect me to meet you like this," protested the girl; "it is impossible. You risk everything."

Bewildered by the nature and the unexpectedness of the attack, Roddy murmured incoherently:

"I'm so sorry," he stammered. "I thought you would wish to know."

"What else is there I could so much wish!" protested the girl with spirit. "But not in this way."

Roddy hung his head humbly.

"I see," he murmured. "I forgot etiquette. I should have considered you."

"I was not thinking of myself!" exclaimed the girl. "A week ago I was frightened. Tradition, training, was strong with me, and I did think too much of how my meeting you would appear to others. But now I see it as you see it. I'll risk their displeasure, gossip, scandal, all of that, if I can only help my father. But this will not help him. This will lead to discovery. You must not come near me, nor visit this house. My mother"—the girl hesitated—"it is hard to say," she went on quickly, "but my mother more than dislikes you—she regards you as our evil genius. She thinks you are doing all in your power to spoil the plans of your own father and of Vega. She—we have all heard of your striking Vega in defense of Alvarez. Vega is the one man she thinks can save my father. She believes you are his enemy. Therefore, you are her enemy. And she has been told, also, of the words you used to my father when your friend was permitted to visit him." With an effort the girl tried to eliminate from her voice the note of obvious impatience. "Of course," she added quickly, "the story came to us distorted. I could not see your object, but I was sure you had a motive. I was sure it was well meant!"

"Well meant!" exclaimed Roddy, but interrupted himself quickly. "All right," he said, "go on."

The girl recognized the restraint in his tone.

"You think I am unjust, ungrateful," she protested earnestly, "but, believe me, I am not. I want only to impress upon you to be careful and to show you where you stand."

"With whom?" asked Roddy.

"With my mother and Vega and with their party."

"I am more interested," said Roddy, "in knowing how I stand with you."

The girl answered quietly: "Oh, we are friends. And you know that I am deeply grateful to you because I know what you are trying to do, the others do not."

"Suppose we tell them?" said Roddy.

The girl gave a quick exclamation of protest, and Roddy could hear rather than see her move from him. They were now quite alone. Lest any one coming from the house should discover Roddy, Pedro had been on guard at the gate. But he had seen, both above and below the wharf, mysterious, moonlit figures loitering at the edge of the water, and in order to investigate them he left his post. There was a moment of silence. On three sides the moonlight turned the tiny waves into thousands of silver mirrors, and from farther up the curving coast-line the fires in the wickerwork huts of the fishermen burned red. At their feet the water was thick with the phosphorescence, shining more brilliantly than the moonlight. And, as schools of minnows fled, darting and doubling on their course before some larger fish that leaped and splashed in pursuit, the black depths of the harbor were lit with vivid streaks, and the drops of water cast into the air flashed like sparks from an anvil.

A harbor shark, nosing up stealthily to the wharf, thought himself invisible, but the phosphorescence showed his great length and cruel head as clearly as though he wore a suit of flame.

"Suppose you tell them?" repeated Roddy.

The girl spoke with evident reluctance.

"I cannot," she said, "and the reason why I cannot is quite foolish, absurd. But their minds are full of it. In some way Vega learned of our meeting. He believes it was by accident, but, nevertheless, he also believes—why I can't imagine—that you are interested in me."

As though fearful Roddy would speak, she continued quickly. She spoke in impersonal, matter-of-fact tones that suggested that in the subject at hand she herself was in no way involved.

"My mother was already prejudiced against you because she thought that, for the sake of adventure, you were risking the life of my father. And this last suggestion of Vega's has added to her prejudice."

As though waiting for Roddy to make some comment or ask some question, the girl hesitated.

"I see," said Roddy.

"No, I am afraid you cannot see," said Inez, "unless you know the facts. I am sorry to weary you with family secrets, but, if you know them, my mother's prejudice is more easy to understand. Colonel Vega wishes to marry me. My mother also desires it. That is why they are hostile to you."

The young girl gave an exclamation of impatience.

"It is ridiculous," she protested, "that such an absurd complication should be brought into a matter of life and death. But there it is. And for that reason it would be folly to tell them of your purpose. They would accept nothing from your hands. You must continue to work alone, and you must not come near me nor try to speak to me. If it is absolutely necessary to communicate with me, write what you have to tell me; or, better still, give a verbal message to Pedro." She made an abrupt movement. "I must go!" she exclaimed. "I told them I would walk in the garden, and they may follow."

At the thought she gave a little gasp of alarm.

"Surely it is not as serious as that?" Roddy objected.

"Quite," returned the girl. "To them, what I am doing now is unpardonable. But I was afraid to write you. A letter may sound so harsh, it can be so easily misread. I did not wish to offend you, so I risked seeing you this way—for the last time."

"For the last time," repeated Roddy.

Inez made a movement to go.

"Wait!" he commanded. "Do you come often to this place?"

"Yes," said the girl, and then, answering the possible thought back of the question, she added: "My mother and sister come here with me every evening—for the sake of the harbor breeze—at least we used to do so. Why?" she demanded.

In her voice was a note of warning.

"I was thinking," said Roddy, "I could row past here in my boat, far out, where no one could see me. But I could see you."

Inez gave a quick sigh of exasperation.

"You will not understand!" she exclaimed. "Why," she demanded, "after all I have told you, after my taking this risk to make it plain to you that you must not see me, do you still persist?"

"As you wish," answered Roddy quietly, but his tone showed that his purpose to see her was unchanged. Inez heard him laugh happily. He moved suddenly toward her. "Why do I persist?" he asked. His voice, sunken to a whisper, was eager, mocking. In it she discerned a new note. It vibrated with feeling. "Why do I persist?" he whispered. "Because you are the most wonderful person I have ever met. Because if I did not persist I'd despise myself. Since I last saw you I have thought of nothing but you, I have been miserable for the sight of you. You can forbid me seeing you, but you can't take away from me what you have given me—the things you never knew you gave me."

The girl interrupted him sharply.

"Mr. Forrester!" she cried.

Roddy went on, as though she had not spoken.

"I had to tell you," he exclaimed. "Until I told you I couldn't sleep. It has been in my head, in my heart, every moment since I saw you. You had to know. And this night!" he exclaimed. As though calling upon them to justify him he flung out his arms toward the magic moonlight, the flashing waves, the great fronds of the palms rising above the wall of the garden. "You have given me," he cried, "the most beautiful thing that has come into my life, and on a night like this I had to speak. I had to thank you. On such a night as this," Roddy cried breathlessly, "Jessica stole from Shylock's house to meet her lover. On such a night as this Leander swam the Hellespont. And on this night I had to tell you that to me you are the most wonderful and beautiful woman in the world."

How Inez Rojas, bewildered, indignant, silent only through astonishment, would have met this attack, Roddy never knew, for Pedro, leaping suddenly from the shore, gave her no time to answer. Trembling with excitement, the Venezuelan spoke rapidly.

"You must go!" he commanded. He seized Roddy by the arm and tried to drag him toward the garden. "The police! They surround the house."

With his free hand he pointed at two figures, each carrying a lantern, who approached rapidly along the shore from either direction.

"They are spying upon all who enter. If they find you!" In an agony of alarm the old man tossed up his hands.

Under his breath Roddy cursed himself impotently for a fool. He saw that again he would compromise the girl he had just told he held in high regard, that he would put in jeopardy the cause for which he had boasted to her he would give his life. Furious, and considering only in what way he could protect Inez, he stood for a moment at a loss. From either side the swinging lanterns drew nearer. In his rear his retreat was cut off by the harbor. Only the dark shadows of Miramar offered a refuge.

"Quick!" commanded Inez. "You must hide in the garden." Her voice was cold with displeasure. "When they have gone Pedro will tell you and you will leave. And," she added, "you will see that you do not return."

The words sobered Roddy. They left him smarting, and they left him quite cool. After her speech he could not accept the hospitality of the garden. And his hiding there might even further compromise her. He saw only one way out; to rush the nearest policeman and in the uncertain light, hope, unrecognized, to escape. But even that chance left the police free to explain, in their own way, why the Senorita Rojas was in the company of a man who fled before them.

"Do you hear?" whispered Inez. "Hide yourself!"

With a cry of dismay Pedro forced Roddy into the shadow.

"It is too late!" he exclaimed.

Standing in the gateway of the garden, clearly illuminated by the moonlight, stood Senora Rojas, with her arm in that of Pino Vega.

In spite of himself, Roddy emitted an excited chuckle. In the presence of such odds his self-reproaches fell from him. He felt only a pleasing thrill of danger. This was no time for regrets or upbraidings. The situation demanded of him only quick action and that he should keep his head. As Roddy now saw it, he was again the base-runner, beset in front and rear. He missed only the shouts and cheers of thousands of partisans. The players of the other side were closing in and shortening the distance in which he could turn and run. They had him in a trap, and, in another instant, the ball would touch him. It was quite time, Roddy decided, to "slide!" Still hidden by the shadow of the thatched roof, he dropped at the feet of Inez, and, before she could understand his purpose, had turned quickly on his face and lowered himself into the harbor. There was a faint splash and a shower of phosphorescence. Roddy's fingers still clung to the edge of the wharf, and Inez, sinking to her knees, brought her face close to his.

"Come back!" she commanded. "Come back! You will drown!" She gave a sudden gasp of horror. "The sharks!" she whispered. "You could not live a moment." With both hands she dragged at his sleeve.

Roddy cast a quick glance at the moon. A friendly cloud was hastening to his aid. He saw that if, for a moment longer, he could remain concealed, he would under cover of the brief eclipse, be able to swim to safety. He drew free of Inez, and, treading water, fearful even to breathe, watched the lanterns of the police halt at the wharf.

The voice of Senora Rojas rose in anxious inquiry.

"Is that you, Inez?" she called.

There was no reply. Concerned as to what struggle of conscience might not be going on in the mind of the girl, Roddy threw his arm across the edge of the wharf and drew his shoulders clear of the water. In the shadow Inez was still kneeling, her face was still close to his.

"Answer her!" commanded Roddy. "I'm all right." He laughed softly, mockingly. He raised his head nearer. "'On such a night,'" he whispered, "'Leander swam the Hellespont.' Why? Because he loved her!"

With an exclamation, partly of exasperation, partly of relief at finding the man did not consider himself in danger, Inez rose to her feet and stepped into the moonlight.

"Yes, I am here," she called. "I am with Pedro."

At the same moment the black cloud swept across the moon, and, with the stealth and silence of a water rat, Roddy slipped from the wharf and struck out toward the open harbor.

At the gate the two policemen raised their lanterns and swung them in the face of Senora Rojas.

Vega turned upon them fiercely.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded. "Do you wish to know who I am? Well, I am Colonel Vega. Report that to your chief. Go!"

With a gesture he waved the men to one side, and, saluting sulkily, they moved away.

When they had gone Senora Rojas sighed with relief, but the hand that rested upon the arm of Vega trembled.

"My dear lady!" he protested. "When I am here no harm can come."

Vega hoped that Inez had heard him. He trusted, also, that she had observed the manner in which he had addressed the police, and how, awed by his authority, they had slunk away. But Inez had not observed him.

With her hands pressed against her breast, her eyes filled with fear, she was watching in fascinated horror a thin ripple of phosphorescence that moved leisurely and steadily out to sea.



* * * * *

In the patio of Roddy's house Peter was reclining in a steamer-chair. At his elbow was a long drink, and between his fingers a long cigar. Opposite him, in another chair, was stretched young Vicenti. At midnight, on his way home from visiting a patient, the doctor, seeing a light in the court-yard of Roddy's house, had clamored for admittance. To Peter the visit was most ill-timed. Roddy had now been absent for four hours, and the imagination of his friend was greatly disturbed. He knew for what purpose Roddy had set forth, and he pictured him pierced with a bullet as he climbed the garden wall, or a prisoner behind the bars of the cartel. He was in no mood to entertain visitors, but the servants were in bed, and when Vicenti knocked, Peter himself had opened the door. On any other night the doctor would have been most welcome. He was an observing young man, and his residence in the States enabled him to take the point of view of Peter and Roddy, and his comments upon their country and his own were amusing. For his attack upon General Rojas he had been greatly offended with Roddy, but the American had written him an apology, and by this late and informal visit Vicenti intended to show that they were again friends.

But, for Peter, it was a severe test of self-control. Each moment his fears for Roddy's safety increased, and of his uneasiness, in the presence of the visitor, he dared give no sign. It was with a feeling of genuine delight that he heard from the garden a mysterious whistle.

"Who's there?" he challenged.

"Is anybody with you?" The voice was strangely feeble, but it was the voice of Roddy.

"Our friend Vicenti," Peter cried, warningly.

At the same moment, Roddy, clad simply in his stockings, and dripping with water, stood swaying in the doorway.

"For Heaven's sake!" protested Peter.

Roddy grinned foolishly, and unclasping his hands from the sides of the door, made an unsteady start toward the table on which stood the bottles and glasses.

"I want a drink," he murmured.

"You want quinine!" cried Vicenti indignantly. "How dared you go swimming at night! It was madness! If the fever——"

He flew into the hall where he had left his medicine-case, and Peter ran for a bathrobe. As they returned with them there was a crash of broken glass, and when they reached the patio they found Roddy stretched at length upon the stones.

At the same moment a little, old man sprang from the garden and knelt beside him. It was Pedro.

"He is dead!" he cried, "he is dead!"

His grief was so real that neither Peter nor Vicenti could suppose he was other than a friend, and without concerning himself as to how he had been so suddenly precipitated into the scene, Vicenti, as he poured brandy between Roddy's teeth, commanded Pedro to rub and beat his body. Coughing and choking, Roddy signalized his return to consciousness by kicking the little man in the stomach.

"Ah, he lives!" cried Pedro. He again dropped upon his knees and, crossing himself, prayed his thanks.

Roddy fell into the bathrobe and into the steamer chair. Sighing luxuriously, he closed his eyes.

"Such a fool, to faint," he murmured. "So ashamed. Made a bet—with harbor sharks. Bet them, could not get me. I win." He opened his eyes and stared dully at Pedro. "Hello!" he said, "there's good old Pedro. What you doing here, Pedro?"

The old man, now recovered from his fear on Roddy's account, was in fresh alarm as to his own, and, glancing at Vicenti, made a movement to escape into the garden.

Roddy waved Vicenti and Peter into the hall.

"Go away," he commanded. "He wants to talk to me."

"But I must not leave you," protested the doctor. "Now I am here as your physician, not as your guest."

"A moment," begged Roddy, "a moment." His eyes closed and his head fell back. Pedro bent over him.

"She sent me," he whispered eagerly. "She could not sleep. She must know to-night if you live. I hid myself in your garden, and I wait and I wait. But you do not come, and I despair. And then," cried the old man joyfully, "the miracle! Now my mistress can sleep in peace."

Roddy lay so still that had it not been for his sharp breathing Pedro would have thought he had again fainted. With a sudden, sharp cry Roddy opened his eyes. His clenched fists beat feebly on the arms of the chair.

"It's a lie!" he shouted fiercely, "it's a lie!" His eyes were wide and staring. Vicenti, returning hastily, looked into them and, with an exclamation, drew back.

"The fever!" he said.

Roddy was shouting wildly.

"It's a lie!" he cried. "She did not send you. She does not care whether I drown or live. She loves Pino Vega. She will marry——"

Peter, with his arm around Roddy's neck, choked him, and held his hand over his mouth.

"Be still," he entreated, "for God's sake, be still!" He looked fearfully at Vicenti, but the young doctor, though his eyes were wide with astonishment, made an impatient gesture.

"Help me get him to bed," Vicenti commanded briskly. "Take his other arm."

With the strength the fever lent him, Roddy hurled the two men from him.

"She and Vega—they stood on the wharf," he shouted, "you understand? They laughed at me. And then the sharks smelt me out and followed; and I couldn't hide because the harbor was on fire. I struck at them and screamed, but I couldn't shake them off; they dived and turned; they crept up on me stealthily, in great circles. They were waiting for me to drown. Whichever way I swam I saw them, under me, on every side! They lit the water with great streaks of flame. And she and Vega pointed me out and laughed."

"Stop him!" shrieked Peter. "You must not listen! Give him morphine! Dope him! Stop him!"

Roddy wrenched his wrists free and ran to Pedro, clutching him by the shoulders.

"But we'll save him!" he cried. "We'll set him free! Because he is an old man. Because he is a great man. Because he is her father. We'll make him President!" His voice soared exultantly. "To hell with Vega!" he shouted. "To hell with Alvarez!" He flung up his arms into the air. "Viva Rojas!" he cried.

Peter turned on Vicenti and shook his fist savagely in his face.

"What you've heard," he threatened, "you've heard under the seal of your profession."

But the eyes that looked into his were as wild as those of the man driven with fever. The face of the Venezuelan was jubilant, exalted, like that of a worshipping fanatic.

"The truth!" he whispered breathlessly, "the truth!"

"The boy is raving mad," protested Peter. "He doesn't mean it. You have heard nothing!"

From the servants' quarters there came the sound of hurrying footsteps.

In alarm, Vicenti glanced in that direction, and then came close to Peter, seizing him by the arm.

"If he's mad," he whispered fiercely, "then I am mad, and I know ten thousand more as mad as he."

When the sun rose dripping out of the harbor, Vicenti and Peter walked into the garden.

"I can leave him now," said the doctor. He looked at Peter's white face and the black rings around his eyes, and laughed. "When he wakes," he said, "he will be in much better health than you or I."

"He certainly gave us a jolly night," sighed Peter, "and I shall never thank you enough for staying by me and Pedro. When a man I've roomed with for two years can't make up his mind whether I am I or a shark, it gets on my nerves."

A few hours later, in another garden half a mile distant, Pedro was telling his young mistress of the night just past. The tears stood in his eyes and his hands trembled in eloquent pantomime.

"He is so like my young master, your brother," he pleaded, "so brave, so strong, so young, and, like him, loves so deeply."

"I am very grateful," said the girl gently. "For my father and for me he risked his life. I am grateful to him—and to God, who spared him."

Pedro lowered his eyes as he repeated: "And he loves so deeply."

The girl regarded him steadily.

"What is it you wish to say?" she demanded.

"All through the night I sat beside him," answered the old man eagerly, "and in his fever he spoke only one name."

The girl turned from him and for a moment stood looking out into the harbor.

"Then the others heard?" she said.

Pedro, with a deprecatory gesture, bowed. With sudden vehemence, with a gesture of relief, the girl flung out her arms.

"I'm glad," she cried. "I am tired of secrets, tired of deceit. I am glad they know. It makes me proud! It makes me happy!"

During the long night, while Roddy had tossed and muttered, Vicenti talked to Peter frankly and freely. He held back nothing. His appointment as prison doctor he had received from Alvarez, but it was impossible for any one to be long in close contact with General Rojas and not learn to admire and love him. And for the past year Vicenti had done all in his power to keep life in the older man and to work for his release. But General Rojas, embittered by past experience, did not confide in him, did not trust him. In spite of this, the doctor had continued working in his interests. He assured Peter that the adherents of Rojas were many, that they were well organized, that they waited only for the proper moment to revolt against Alvarez, release Rojas, and place him in power. On their programme Vega had no place. They suspected his loyalty to his former patron and chief, they feared his ambition; and they believed, were he to succeed in making himself President, he would be the servant of Forrester, and of the other foreigners who desired concessions, rather than of the people of Venezuela. The amnesty, Vicenti believed, had been declared only that Alvarez might entice Vega to Venezuela, where, when he wished, he could lay his hands on him. When he had obtained evidence that Vega was plotting against him he would submit this evidence to the people and throw Vega into prison.

"Vega knows his danger," added Vicenti, "and, knowing it, he must mean to strike soon—to-day—to-morrow. We of the Rojas faction are as ignorant of his plans as we hope he is of ours. But in every camp there are traitors. No one can tell at what hour all our secrets may not be made known. Of only one thing you can be certain: matters cannot continue as they are. Within a week you will see this country torn by civil war, or those who oppose Alvarez, either of our party or of Vega's, will be in prison."

When Roddy, rested and refreshed and with normal pulse and mind, came to luncheon, Peter confided to him all that Vicenti had told him.

"If all that is going to happen," was Roddy's comment, "the sooner we get Rojas free the better. We will begin work on the tunnel to-night."

The attacking party consisted of McKildrick, Roddy, and Peter. When the day's task on the light-house was finished and the other workmen had returned to the city, these three men remained behind and, placing crowbars, picks, and sticks of dynamite in Roddy's launch, proceeded to a little inlet a half-mile below El Morro. By seven o'clock they had made their way through the laurel to the fortress, and while Roddy and Peter acted as lookouts McKildrick attacked the entrance to the tunnel. He did not, as he had boasted, open it in an hour, but by ten o'clock the iron bars that held the slabs together had been cut and the cement loosened. Fearful of the consequences if they returned to the city at too late an hour, the tools and dynamite were hidden, rubbish and vines were so scattered as to conceal the evidence of their work, and the launch landed the conspirators at Roddy's wharf.

"We shall say," explained Roddy, "that we have been out spearing eels, and I suggest that we now go to the Dos Hermanos and say it."

They found the cafe, as usual, crowded. Men of all political opinions, officers of the army and the custom-house, from the tiny warship in the harbor, Vegaistas, and those who secretly were adherents of Rojas, were all gathered amicably together. The Americans, saluting impartially their acquaintances, made their way to a table that remained empty in the middle of the room. They had hardly seated themselves when from a distant corner an alert young man, waving his hand in greeting, pushed his way toward them. They recognized the third vice-president of the Forrester Construction Company, Mr. Sam Caldwell.

Mr. Caldwell had arrived that afternoon. He was delighted at being free of the ship. At the house of Colonel Vega he had dined well, and at sight of familiar faces he was inclined to unbend. He approached the employees of the company as one conferring a favor and assured of a welcome. He appreciated that since his arrival he was the man of the moment. In the crowded restaurant every one knew him as the representative of that great corporation that had dared to lock horns with the government. As he passed the tables the officers of that government followed him with a scowl or a sneer; those of the Vegaistas, who looked upon him as the man who dealt out money, ammunition and offices, with awe. How the secret supporters of Rojas considered him was soon to appear.

"This," Roddy whispered in a quick aside, "is where I renounce the F. C. C. and all its works."

"Don't be an ass!" entreated Peter.

Roddy rose and, with his hands sunk in his pockets, awaited the approach of the third vice-president.

"Well, boys, here I am!" called that young man heartily. He seemed to feel that his own surprise at finding himself outside the limits of Greater New York must be shared by all. But, as though to see to whom this greeting was extended, Roddy turned and glanced at his companions.

McKildrick rose and stood uncomfortably.

"Well, Roddy," exclaimed Sam Caldwell genially, "how's business?"

Roddy's eyebrows rose.

"'Roddy?'" he repeated, as though he had not heard aright. "Are you speaking to me?"

Sam Caldwell was conscious that over all the room there had come a sudden hush. A waiter, hurrying with a tray of jingling glasses, by some unseen hand was jerked by the apron and brought to abrupt silence. In the sudden quiet Roddy's voice seemed to Caldwell to have come through a megaphone. The pink, smooth-shaven cheeks of the newcomer, that were in such contrast to the dark and sun-tanned faces around him, turned slowly red.

"What's the idea?" he asked.

"You sent me a cable to Curacao," Roddy replied, "telling me to mind my own business."

It had never been said of Sam Caldwell that he was an unwilling or unworthy antagonist. He accepted Roddy's challenge promptly. His little, piglike eyes regarded Roddy contemptuously.

"I did," he retaliated, "at your father's dictation."

"Well, my business hours," continued Roddy undisturbed, "are between eight and five. If you come out to the light-house to-morrow you will see me minding my own business and bossing a gang of niggers, at twenty dollars a week. Outside of business hours I choose my own company."

Caldwell came closer to him and dropped his voice.

"Are you sober?" he demanded.

"Perfectly," said Roddy.

Caldwell surveyed him grimly.

"You are more out of hand than we thought," he commented. "I have heard some pretty strange tales about you this afternoon. Are they true?"

"You have your own methods of finding out," returned Roddy. He waved his hand toward the table. "If you wish to join these gentlemen I am delighted to withdraw."

Caldwell retreated a few steps and then turned back angrily.

"I'll have a talk with you to-morrow," he said, "and to-night I'll cable your father what you are doing here."

Roddy bowed and slightly raised his voice, so that it reached to every part of the room.

"If you can interest my father," he said, "in anything that concerns his son I shall be grateful."

As Caldwell made his way to the door, and Roddy, frowning gravely, sank back into his chair, the long silence was broken by a babble of whispered questions and rapid answers. Even to those who understood no English the pantomime had been sufficiently enlightening. Unobtrusively the secret agents of Alvarez rose from the tables and stole into the night. A half-hour later it was known in Caracas that the son of Mr. Forrester had publicly insulted the representative of his father, the arch-enemy of the government, and had apparently ranged himself on the side of Alvarez. Hitherto the Dos Hermanos had been free from politics, but as Roddy made his exit from the cafe, the officers of the army chose the moment for a demonstration. Revolution was in the air, and they desired to declare their loyalty. Rising to their feet and raising their glasses to Roddy they cried, "Bravo, bravo! Viva Alvarez!"

Bowing and nodding to them and wishing them good-night, Roddy hurried to the street.

Under the lamps of the Alameda McKildrick regarded him quizzically.

"And what do you gain by that?" he asked.

"Well, I force Sam into the open," declared Roddy, "and I'm no longer on the suspect list. Look at my record! I've insulted everybody. I have insulted Rojas, insulted Vega, insulted Caldwell, all enemies of Alvarez. So now the Alvarez crowd will love me. Now they trust me! If they caught me digging the tunnel and I told them I was building a light-house, they'd believe me. If I insult a few more people they'll give me the Order of Bolivar."

The next morning Roddy attended Mass. But he was not entirely engrossed in his devotions. Starting from the front entrance of the church he moved slowly nearer and nearer to the altar, and, slipping from the shelter of one pillar to another, anxiously scanned the rows of kneeling women. He found the mantilla a baffling disguise, and as each woman present in the church wore one, and as the hair of each was black, and as the back of the head of one woman is very much like that of another, it was not until the worshippers had turned to leave that he discovered the Senorita Inez Rojas. In her black satin dress, with her face wreathed by the black lace mantilla, Roddy thought he had never seen her look more beautiful.

After her explicit commands that he should not attempt to see her again he was most anxious she should not learn how soon he had disobeyed her; and that she was walking with her sister and mother made it still more necessary that he should remain unnoticed.

But in his eagerness and delight in the sight of her he leaned far forward. Inez, at that instant raising her eyes, saw him. Of the two Roddy was the more concerned. The girl made no sign of recognition, but the next moment, with an exclamation, she suddenly unclasped her hands, and, as though to show they were empty, held them toward her mother and sister. Leaving them, she returned hurriedly toward the altar. Senora Rojas and the sister continued on their way toward the door, exchanging greetings with the women of their acquaintance, whom, after an absence of two years, they now met for the first time. Seeing them thus engaged Inez paused and, turning, looked directly at Roddy. Her glance was not forbidding, and Roddy, who needed but little encouragement, hastened to follow. The church was very dark. The sunlight came only through the lifted curtains at the farthest entrance, and the acolytes were already extinguishing the candles that had illuminated the altar. As Inez, in the centre of the church, picked her way among the scattered praying-chairs, Roddy, in the side aisle and hidden by the pillars, kept pace with her.

Directly in front of the altar Inez stooped, and, after picking up a fan and a prayer-book, stood irresolutely looking about her. Roddy cautiously emerged from the side aisle and from behind the last of the long row of pillars. Inez came quickly toward him. The last of the acolytes to leave the altar, in their haste to depart, stumbled and tripped past them, leaving them quite alone. Concealed by the great pillar from all of those in the far front of the church, Inez gave Roddy her hand. The eyes that looked into his were serious, penitent.

"I am so sorry," she begged; "can you forgive me?"

"Forgive you!" whispered Roddy. His voice was filled with such delight that it was apparently a sufficient answer. Inez, smiling slightly, withdrew her hand, and taking from inside her glove a folded piece of paper, thrust it toward him.

"I brought this for you," she said.

Roddy seized it greedily.

"For me!" he exclaimed in surprise. As though in apology for the question he raised his eyes appealingly. "How did you know," he begged, "that I would be here?"

For an instant, with a frown, the girl regarded him steadily. Then her cheeks flushed slightly and her eyes grew radiant. She flashed upon him the same mocking, dazzling smile that twice before had left him in complete subjection.

"How did you know," she returned, "I would be here?"

She moved instantly from him, but Roddy started recklessly in pursuit.

"Wait!" he demanded. "Just what does that mean?"

With an imperative gesture the girl motioned him back, and then, as though to soften the harshness of the gesture, reassured him in a voice full of consideration.

"The note will tell you," she whispered, and, turning her back on him, hurried to the door.

Roddy allowed her sufficient time in which to leave the neighborhood of the church, and while he waited, as the most obvious method of expressing his feelings, stuffed all the coins in his pockets into the poor-box. From the church he hastened to an empty bench in the Alameda, and opened the note. He was surprised to find that it came from Mrs. Broughton, the wife of the English Consul at Porto Cabello. She was an American girl who, against the advice of her family, had married an Englishman, and one much older than herself. Since their marriage he had indulged and spoiled her as recklessly as any American might have done, and at the same time, in his choice of a wife, had continued to consider himself a most fortunate individual. Since his arrival at Porto Cabello Roddy had been a friend of each. For hours he would play in the garden with their children, without considering it necessary to inform either the father or mother that he was on the premises; and on many evenings the Broughtons and himself sat in his patio reading the American periodicals, without a word being spoken by any one of them until they said good-night. But since his return from Curacao, Roddy had been too occupied with coming events to remember old friends.

The note read:

"DEAR MR. FORRESTER: My husband and I have not seen you for ages, and the children cry for 'Uncle Roddy.' Will you and Mr. De Peyster take tea with us day after to-morrow? The only other friend who is coming will give you this note."

The Broughtons had been stationed at Porto Cabello for five years, and, as Roddy now saw, it was most natural that in the limited social life of Porto Cabello the two American girls should be friends. That he had not already thought of the possibility of this filled him with rage, and, at the same time, the promise held forth by the note thrilled him with pleasure. He leaped to his feet and danced jubilantly upon the gravel walk. Tearing the note into scraps he hurled them into the air.

"Mary Broughton!" he exclaimed ecstatically, "you're a brick!"

Such was his feeling of gratitude to the lady, that he at once sought out a confectioner's and sent her many pounds of the candied fruits that have made Venezuela famous, and that, on this occasion, for several days made the Broughton children extremely ill.

That night the attack on the barricade to the tunnel was made with a vigor no cement nor rusty iron could resist. Inspired by the thought that on the morrow he would see Inez, and that she herself wished to see him, and anxious to give her a good report of the work of rescue, Roddy toiled like a coal-passer. His energy moved McKildrick and Peter to endeavors equally strenuous, and by nine o'clock the great stone slabs were wedged apart, and on the warm-scented night air and upon the sweating bodies of the men there struck a cold, foul breath that told them one end of the tunnel lay open.



VII

Roddy was for at once dashing down the stone steps and exploring the tunnel, but McKildrick held him back.

"You couldn't live for a moment," he protested, "and it may be days before we can enter." In proof of what he said, he lit one wax match after another, and as he passed each over the mouth of the tunnel Roddy saw the flame sicken and die.

"That has been a tomb for half a century," McKildrick reminded him. "Even if a strong, young idiot like you could breathe that air, Rojas couldn't."

"All the same, I am going down," said Roddy.

"And I tell you, you are not!" returned McKildrick.

Roddy, jubilant and grandly excited, laughed mockingly.

"'Am I the Governor of these Isles, or is it an Emilio Aguinaldo?'" he demanded. "This is my expedition, and I speak to lead the forlorn hope."

Exclaiming with impatience, McKildrick brought a rope and, making a noose, slipped it under Roddy's arms.

"All we ask," he said grimly, "is that when you faint you'll fall with your head toward us. Otherwise we will bump it into a jelly."

Roddy switched on the light in his electric torch and, like a diver descending a sea-ladder, moved cautiously down the stone steps. Holding the rope taut, Peter leaned over the opening.

"When the snakes and bats and vampires get you," he warned, "you'll wish you were back among the sharks!"

But Roddy did not hear him. As though warding off a blow he threw his hands across his face and dropped heavily.

"Heave!" cried Peter.

The two men sank their heels in the broken rubbish and dragged on the rope until they could lay violent hands on Roddy's shoulders. With unnecessary roughness they pulled him out of the opening and let him fall.

When Roddy came to he rose sheepishly.

"We'll have to postpone that expedition," he said, "until we can count on better ventilation. Meanwhile, if any gentleman wants to say 'I told you so,' I'll listen to him."

They replaced the slabs over the mouth of the tunnel, but left wide openings through which the air and sunlight could circulate, and, after concealing these openings with vines, returned to Roddy's house. There they found Vicenti awaiting them. He was the bearer of important news. The adherents of Colonel Vega, he told them, were assembling in force near Porto Cabello, and it was well understood by the government that at any moment Vega might join them and proclaim his revolution. That he was not already under arrest was due to the fact that the government wished to seize not only the leader, but all of those who were planning to leave the city with him. The home of Vega was surrounded, and he himself, in his walks abroad, closely guarded. That he would be able to escape seemed all but impossible.

"At the same time," continued Vicenti, "our own party is in readiness. If Vega reaches his followers and starts on his march to the capital we will start an uprising here in favor of Rojas. If we could free Rojas and show him to the people, nothing could save Alvarez. Alvarez knows that as well as ourselves. But without artillery it is impossible to subdue the fortress of San Carlos. We can take this city; we can seize the barracks, the custom-house, but not San Carlos. There also is this danger; that Alvarez, knowing without Rojas our party would fall to pieces, may at the first outbreak order him to be shot."

Roddy asked Vicenti, as the physician of Rojas, if he thought Rojas were strong enough to lead a campaign.

"He is not," declared Vicenti, "but we would not ask it of him. Let him only show himself and there will be no campaign. Even the government troops would desert to him. But," he added with a sigh, "why talk of the impossible! The troops that hold San Carlos are bound to Alvarez. He has placed there only those from his own plantation; he has paid them royally. And they have other reasons for fighting to the death. Since they have been stationed at Porto Cabello their conduct has been unspeakable. And the men of this town hate them as much as the women fear them. Their cruelty to the political prisoners is well known, and they understand that if an uprising started here where Rojas has lived, where he is dearly loved, they need expect no mercy. They will fight, not to protect San Carlos, but for their lives."

Vicenti spoke with such genuine feeling that had Roddy felt free to do so he would have told him of the plan to rescue Rojas. But both Peter and McKildrick had warned him that until the last moment no one, save themselves, must learn the secret of the tunnel.

So, while they thanked Vicenti for his confidences, they separated for the night without having made him any return in kind.

The next morning, Sam Caldwell, under the guidance of McKildrick, paid an official visit to the light-house on which the men of the F. C. C. were then at work. When his tour of inspection was finished he returned to the wheel-house of the tug that had brought him across the harbor, and sent for Roddy. Roddy appeared before him in his working-clothes. They consisted of very few garments, and those were entirely concealed by the harbor mud. Caldwell, in cool, clean duck and a flamboyant Panama hat, signified with a grin that he enjoyed the contrast. He did not like Roddy, and Roddy treated him with open insolence. They were nearly of the same age and for years had known each other, but they had always been at war. As son of the president of the company, every chance had been given Roddy to advance his own interests. And it was not so much that he had failed to be of service to the company, as that he had failed to push himself forward, that caused Caldwell to regard him with easy contempt.

On his side, Roddy considered Caldwell the bribe-giver and keeper of the corruption fund for the company, and, as such, beneath his royal notice. It therefore followed that in his present position of brief authority over Roddy, Caldwell found a certain enjoyment. This he concealed beneath the busy air of a man of affairs.

"I have a cable here from your father, Roddy," he began briskly. "Translated, the part that refers to you reads, 'Tell Forrester take orders from you or leave service company. If refuses, furnish return passage, month's wages.'"

After a pause, Roddy said: "I take it that is in answer to a cable from you."

"Exactly," assented Caldwell. "I informed your father you were insubordinate to my authority, and that I had been reliably informed you were hostile to our interests. What you do as an individual doesn't count for much, but as the son of your father, apparently down here at least, it does. Why you made that play at me last night I don't know, and I haven't time to find out. I am not here to teach you manners. But when you butt in and interfere with the business of the company I must take notice. You've either got to stop working against us, or go home. Which do you want to do? And before you answer," Caldwell added, "you ought to know that, as it is, you don't stand very high at headquarters. When your father got word you'd been fighting Vega, our friend, in defense of Alvarez, the man that's robbing us, that's giving us all this trouble, he was naturally pretty hot. He said to me: 'Roddy isn't down there to mix up in politics, but if he does, he must mix up on our side. I can't take money from the company to support my son, or any one else, who is against it.' That's what your father said to me. Now, as I understand it, although it is none of my business, you are dependent on him, and I advise——"

"As you say," interrupted Roddy, "it's none of your business. The other proposition," he went on, "that I can't take money from the company and work against it, is fair enough. What you call my work against it was begun before I knew it was in any way opposed to the company's interests. Now that I do know, I quite agree that either I must give up my outside job or quit working for you." Roddy reached to the shoulder of his flannel shirt, and meditatively began to unroll his damp and mud-soaked sleeve. "I guess I'll quit now!" he said.

The answer was not the one Caldwell expected or desired. As an employee of the company Roddy was not important, but what he was doing as an individual, which had so greatly excited Vega, was apparently of much importance. And what it might be Sam Caldwell was anxious to discover. He had enjoyed his moment of triumph and now adopted a tone more conciliatory.

"There's no use getting hot about it," he urged. "Better think it over."

Roddy nodded, and started to leave the wheel-house.

"Have thought it over," he said.

As Caldwell saw it, Roddy was acting from pique and in the belief that his father would continue to supply him with funds. This Caldwell knew was not the intention of Mr. Forrester. He had directed Caldwell to inform Roddy that if he deliberately opposed him he must not only seek work elsewhere, but that he did not think he should continue to ask his father for support. Caldwell proceeded to make this quite plain to Roddy, but, except that the color in his face deepened and that his jaw set more firmly, Roddy made no sign.

"Very well, then," concluded Caldwell, "you leave me no other course than to carry out your father's direction. I'll give you a month's wages and pay your passage-money home."

"I'm not going home," returned Roddy, "and I don't want any money I haven't worked for. The company isn't discharging me," he added with a grin, "as it would a cook. I am discharging the company."

"I warn you your father won't stand for it," protested Caldwell.

Roddy turned back, and in a serious tone, and emphasizing his words with a pointed forefinger, spoke earnestly.

"Sam," he said, "I give you my word, father is in wrong. You are in wrong. You're both backing the wrong stable. When this row starts your man Vega won't run one, two, three."

"You mean Rojas?" said Caldwell.

"I mean Rojas," replied Roddy. "And if you and father had trusted me I could have told you so three months ago. It would have saved you a lot of money. It isn't too late even now. You'd better listen to me."

Caldwell laughed comfortably.

"Rojas is a back number," he said. "He's an old man, and a dead one. And besides—" He hesitated and glanced away.

"Well?" demanded Roddy.

"And, besides," continued Caldwell slowly, picking his words, "Vega is going to marry his daughter, and so we win both ways. And Vega is amenable to reason. He will help us." As though in a sudden burst of confidence he added ingratiatingly, "And you could help your father, too, if you liked. If you'll tell me what the Rojas party mean to do I'll set you right with your father. What do you say?"

"What do I say, you poor, little—thing!" Roddy roared. Then he laughed shortly and shrugged his shoulders. "I'll say this much," he added. "If I were sure you couldn't swim I'd throw you into the harbor."

"So you could pull me out," laughed Caldwell. "Why don't you? You know you were always a grand-stand actor, Roddy. Think how heroic it would be," he taunted, "to rescue the hated enemy, to save my life!"

Roddy, unmoved, regarded him thoughtfully.

"It would be an awful thing to have on one's conscience," he said, and left the wheel-house.

When, at five o'clock that same afternoon, Roddy found himself sitting opposite Inez Rojas in a properly appointed drawing-room, guarded by a properly appointed chaperon and with a cup of tea on his knee, the situation struck him not only as delightful, but comic. With inward amusement he thought of their other meetings: those before sunrise, and the one by moonlight when Inez had told him he was seeing her for the last time, and when policemen threatened his advance and sharks cut off his retreat. From a smile in the eyes of the girl herself Roddy guessed that she also found the meeting not without its humorous side. Roddy soon discovered he could not adjust his feelings to the exigencies of an afternoon call. After doing his duty as an adopted uncle to the Broughton children and to his hostess and her tea and to Peter, in permitting him ten minutes' talk with Inez, he brought that interview to an abrupt end.

"Miss Rojas," he exclaimed, "you haven't seen Mrs. Broughton's garden in two years, have you? Such a lot of things grow up in two years. Let me introduce them to you."