As I looked in her face, beaming with confidence and faith, I realized how hard it would be to tell her the terrible truth, and what a shock it would be to her when she discovered the husband she believed the soul of honor stood in danger of a prison. Yet I was tolerably certain she would forgive me upon my promise never to do wrong again. She had sent out invitations to dinner for Thursday to twenty friends. There was then a steamer in the harbor advertised to sail in two days for Mexico, and I had thought of going by her. Had we, this book would never have been written. As invitations were out for Thursday, I concluded to wait for Saturday's steamer, but determined to sail on that day without fail. Under our system of housekeeping a dinner party was a simple thing. We merely had to notify our landlord how many guests we expected and the thing was done, so far as we were concerned. Don Fernando would send his hotel steward down to the house with reinforcements of cooks and waiters, and my wife had simply to usher the guests into the dining room and out again. Don Fernando's supernumeraries did the rest. On the day of our dinner I was strongly tempted to give some hint to my wife that I was in some way entangled in a web, but as she was so happy I could not do it, but resolved to wait until we were settled in Mexico, and then to tell her a little, but not all the truth. My wife, all unconscious of the frightful calamity impending, entered upon the last half day of happiness she was to know for many long years. The same statement would be true of myself. As the guests were arriving I was in a happy vein, and in the same happy frame of mind sat down to dinner. Twenty happy mortals, but not one divined the termination of that dinner party, least of all the proud and happy hostess. It was a great success, and at 8 o'clock was drawing to a close. The long windows were open, while the warm breeze from the nearby gulf was pouring through the room. The clock had just chimed the quarter when there came a sudden rush of feet over the veranda and through the hall. All eyes were fixed on the open door leading to the hall, when an eager, resolute-faced man, evidently an American, stepped with a firm pace into the room, followed by a dozen civilians and soldiers. With a quick glance over the company his eyes rested on me, and coming direct to my chair, while my guests gazed in amazement, he bowed and said in a low voice: "Mr. Bidwell, I am sorry to disturb your dinner party or to annoy you in any way, but I am forced to tell you I have a warrant in my pocket for your arrest upon a charge of forgery upon the Bank of England. The warrant is signed by the Captain-General of Cuba, everything is in due form, and you are my prisoner. I am William Pinkerton." [Illustration: BENEATH OLD BAILEY COURT ROOM--COURT ADJOURNED FOR LUNCH.]