“You can’t be too careful,” Aiken said as he reseated himself. “Of course, the whole thing is a comic opera, but if they suspect you are working against them, they’re just as likely as not to make it a tragedy, with you in the star part. Now I’ll explain how I got into this, and I can assure you it wasn’t through any love of liberty with me. The consular agent here is a man named Quay, and he and I have been in the commission business together. About three months ago, when Laguerre was organizing his command at Bluefields, Garcia, who is the leader of the revolutionary party, sent word down here to Quay to go North for him and buy two machine guns and invoice ‘em to me at the consulate. Quay left on the next steamer and appointed me acting consul, but except for his saying so I’ve no more real authority to act as consul than you have. The plan was that when Laguerre captured this port he would pick up the guns and carry them on to Garcia. Laguerre was at Bluefields, but couldn’t get into the game for lack of a boat. So when the Nancy Miller touched there he and his crowd boarded her just like a lot of old-fashioned pirates and turned the passengers out on the wharf. Then they put a gun at the head of the engineer and ordered him to take them back to Porto Cortez. But when they reached here the guns hadn’t arrived from New Orleans. And so, after a bit of a fight on landing, Laguerre pushed on without them to join Garcia. He left instructions with me to bring him word when they arrived. He’s in hiding up there in the mountains, waiting to hear from me now. They ought to have come this steamer day on the Panama along with you, but, as you know, they didn’t. I never thought they would. I knew the Isthmian Line people wouldn’t carry ‘em. They’ve got to beat Garcia, and until this row is over they won’t even carry a mail-bag for fear he might capture it.” “Is that because General Laguerre seized one of their steamers?” I asked. “No, it’s an old fight,” said Aiken, “and Laguerre’s stealing the Nancy Miller was only a part of it. The fight began between Garcia and the Isthmian Line when Garcia became president. He tried to collect some money from the Isthmian Line, and old man Fiske threw him out of the palace and made Alvarez president.” I was beginning to find the politics of the revolution into which I had precipitated myself somewhat involved, and I suppose I looked puzzled, for Aiken laughed. “You can laugh,” I said, “but it is rather confusing. Who is Fiske? Is he another revolutionist?” “Fiske!” exclaimed Aiken. “Don’t tell me you don’t know who Fiske is? I mean old man Fiske, the Wall Street banker--Joseph Fiske, the one who owns the steam yacht and all the railroads.”