Yes. And Clif thought that this was the last--that Ignacio had gained his purpose. The task of murder was left to him. But there was no chance of resistance. Clif felt the cold muzzle of a revolver pressed to his head, and so he put the thought away. One of the men snapped a pair of handcuffs about his wrists, as if to make sure of him in case the ropes were not strong enough. And then one of them seized him by each arm and Ignacio stepped behind with the lantern. And so out of the cell they marched and down the long corridor and out of the building into the open air. Clif had chance for but one deep breath of it. A moment later he was shoved into a wagon that was in front of the door. There he was seated between one of the men and the chuckling Ignacio. The other man was driving and they rattled off down the street. Where they were going the unfortunate victim had no idea. Perhaps to some lonely spot where Ignacio could torture him to his fiendish heart's content! But there was no use in making an outcry. And Clif realized it and sat perfectly silent. He would give his enemies no more satisfaction than he could help. Clif did not think that it could be the trip to Morro that was before him; it was too early for such a deed of darkness. If he were dropped overboard upon the way some one might see it. But as it actually happened, Morro was his destination. And he really reached Morro, too. Perhaps the city jail was not considered strong enough for such a villain as he. And the carriage stopped at a wharf. A small launch was waiting there, and the party boarded her and were swept across to the other side in a very short while. So in a short while the walls of Havana's strongest dungeon shut upon Clif Faraday. He was a prisoner in Morro, famous or infamous, for its deeds of horror. For it was in this place, as Clif knew, that all the torture and cruelty of the Spanish nature had been wreaked upon the unfortunate Cubans or Americans who fell into the hands of Weyler. It was here that Ruiz had been murdered, and hundreds of wretches besides--their name and fate being hidden forever by the walls of that horrible place. And Clif was going then under the guidance of Ignacio. It was plain that the fiendish man had secured his purpose, for he was in command of the little party. And it was his to decide what was to be done with Clif. How the man had secured that privilege from the authorities Clif could not hope to know. That he had gotten it as a reward for some deed of darkness he did not doubt. Perhaps it was for capturing Bessie Stuart, was the thought that flashed over the lad. Again when the black, silent walls of Morro loomed up before them and the great gate opened nobody asked any questions of Ignacio. He showed a note, and it passed him from sentry to sentry; and the party passed down a flight of stairs into a cold, damp, stone corridor black as night.