“Fellow countrymen,” Rodriguez exclaimed in a loud, commanding voice, “I have obeyed your summons, but I shall not join the society. I shall never take sides in this war until I feel in my heart that to do so will better my countrymen. You who are deceiving the Americans, pretending that you are loyal and yet aiding your countrymen to kill them, doubtless believe that you are doing your country a service, but I know that in the end you will bring terrible suffering on our people. Take the field and fight openly and honorably, and you will be treated by your enemy as a brave antagonist, but fight with a knife, stabbing your enemy in the back, under the guise of friendship, and the end is surely the gallows tree.” A murmur of harsh voices filled the room as Rodriguez stopped speaking. All eyes were turned to this striking figure, as the light from many candles revealed the finely moulded face, flashing eyes and firmly chiseled lips and chin. As Phil watched, his eyes opened wider in dread. The leader had edged, during the long speech, nearer and yet nearer to Rodriguez. Martinez was standing silently on the other side. Phil’s anxious gaze caught the flash of brightly polished steel in the hands of this masked native, now but a few feet from his intended victim. Maria saw, but her voice was frozen within her. Phil gauged the distance to the would-be murderer, for his intention was only too evident. It was not over fifty paces. Surely it was possible; he had often practiced at that distance. His revolver was now pointing at the Katipunan leader, whose hand could be seen to be stealthily rising. Phil steadied one shaking hand with the other and pulled the trigger. The loud report of the discharge was deafening, and below in an instant all was the wildest confusion. Swiftly all lights were extinguished and the room was plunged into inky darkness. “Come,” Phil urged excitedly, “we must get O’Neil and save Juan Rodriguez.” Blindly they felt for the stairs and quickly descended; then hand in hand they ran along the dark, slippery tunnel. Reaching the street Phil gave a low whistle, which soon brought O’Neil and his men. “Did you fire a shot?” the sailor asked anxiously. “We thought we heard one, but it seemed a long ways off.” “Yes,” Phil replied, “but follow us; there’s work to be done; the señorita’s father is in danger.” Led by the native, Lopez, each sailor with his revolver drawn sped down the narrow street. At the corner they saw a small band of men approaching. Phil halted his party and waited ready to attack if they turned out to be enemies. The next moment Maria had thrown herself into her father’s arms, and was sobbing hysterically, while his native followers withdrew to some distance and stood on guard in respectful silence. Phil and Sydney wrung the hand of their former captor Martinez.