"You were captured, if I understand it truly, from a merchantman which you ran upon the rocks in order to prevent one of our vessels from recapturing her?" "That is true," Clif said. "And you must have thought it quite a smart trick! But according to this man here, you previously had some fighting with our vessel. Would you mind telling me about it?" "I would not," said Clif. "We were steaming toward Key West, myself and these four men being a prize crew from the gunboat Uncas. We were hailed from the darkness by another vessel----" "Ah! And what was the name of the vessel?" "I do not know." "Did you not ask?" "I did. But she answered falsely. She pretended to be an American vessel----" The Spaniard gave a sneer. "So that is the yarn you mean to tell," he laughed. "That is what occurred," said Clif, quickly. "If you have heard otherwise you have been told a lie. And my men will bear me out in the statement." "Indeed! I do not doubt it." There was fine sarcasm in that tone; but Clif did not heed it. "Would you mind telling me what this fellow Ignacio has said?" he inquired. "He says," responded the other, "that the vessel announced herself as a Spaniard, and called on you to surrender. You did so; and then when the boat's crew came aboard you shot two of them and steamed away. Is that so, Ignacio?" "It is," snarled the "agent." "I will take my oath upon it." It was of course a lie; and it made Clif's blood boil. The Spanish vessel had deceived them and tried to capture them by stealth. The men of the Spanish boat's crew had been shot while trying to hold up the American. But Clif had expected that Ignacio would tell such a tale, and so he was not surprised. The offense with which the lad found himself charged was a terrible one, and he realized that he could be hanged for it. Yet what was he to do? "I fear," he said to the Spaniard, "that it will do me little good to deny this story." "That is true," said the other, promptly. And his cruel eyes gleamed as he watched the prisoner. "Do you deny the shooting?" he demanded. "No," said Clif, "I do not." "You find it easier to say that the men pretended to be Americans." "I find it easier because it is truer," was the cadet's answer. And then there were several moments of silence while the three actors of this little drama watched each other eagerly. Ignacio was fairly beside himself with triumph. He could scarcely keep himself quiet, and under his bushy eyebrows, his dark eyes gleamed triumphantly. He had played his trump card. And he had his victim where he wanted him at last. To watch him under the torture of his present position was almost as good as to watch him under the torture of the knife. For what could he do? He might bluster and protest (all to Ignacio's glee) but nobody would believe him. For Ignacio knew that the Spanish officer was glad enough to believe the story the spy told him. His prejudice and his hatred of Americans would turn the scale.