“I tell you this,” Juarez added, after a pause to permit them to grasp the full meaning of his words, and to gloat over the lad’s discomfiture, “because dead men tell no tales. To-morrow you will be tried by drum-head court martial,” and shrugging his shoulders, “I am the president of the court.” Phil was about to reply when he saw how futile speech would be. The man had come to taunt them. Silence was their best course. Seeing that his victims could not be moved, he turned and left them. They heard his voice in the hallway loudly instructing the guards: “If the Americans attempt to escape, shoot to kill.” “Do you believe Lazar has given up the guns?” Sydney questioned as Juarez’s steps died away, forgetting the dire threat in his anxiety for their cause. “I fear Juarez speaks the truth,” Phil answered dejectedly; “I blame myself for not having cautioned Marshall.” “No, you shouldn’t do that,” said Sydney; “as things have turned out, it would have been wiser. But how were you to know? It seems incredible that a naval officer, even if he is a scoundrel, would take such a risk.” “A man of Lazar’s character will stoop to any depths for money,” exclaimed Phil, “and you can be sure that the sum promised him by Juarez is large.” “But his commission in the navy,” Sydney persisted, unconvinced. “If this crime is discovered he will at least be dismissed the service.” “A man of his unnatural talents and intriguing nature soon finds but little scope for himself in the service, where all are poor but honorable,” he answered. “No doubt he has contemplated leaving the service and the fear of detection, therefore, has no influence with him. As for dismissal, that would be out of the question; the crime of which we know he is guilty would be nearly impossible to prove before a naval court martial. Our evidence is only hearsay, and might not convict him.” “Our evidence,” Sydney commenced; then the life died out of his voice as he added, “we may never be able to give it.” The failing light of day, entering the solitary window above their heads, soon left the prisoners in darkness. The lamp used by their guards outside their cell door shed a faint glimmer through the cracks of the stout oaken panel. The terrible mental strain which the Americans were enduring gave them scant desire to sleep, and as they tossed restlessly on the damp floor of their cell their predicament gradually dawned upon them with startling force. O’Neil alone was cheerful; his indomitable spirit saved the lads from sinking too deep in the slough of despond.