“And yet I didn’t,” he laughed. “What do you mean,” I asked, “were you ever a spy or an actor?” “I was both,” he said. “I was a failure at both, too. I got put in jail for being a spy, and I ought to have been hung for my acting.” I kicked my mule forward in order to hear better. “Tell me about it,” I asked, eagerly. “About when you were a spy.” But Aiken only laughed, and rode on without turning his head. “You wouldn’t understand,” he said after a pause. Then he looked at me over his shoulder. “It needs a big black background of experience and hard luck to get the perspective on that story,” he explained. “It wouldn’t appeal to you; you’re too young. They’re some things they don’t teach at West Point.” “They teach us,” I answered, hotly, “that if we’re detailed to secret service work we are to carry out our orders. It’s not dishonorable to obey orders. I’m not so young as you think. Go on, tell me, in what war were you a spy?” “It wasn’t in any war,” Aiken said, again turning away from me. “It was in Haskell’s Private Detective Agency.” I could not prevent an exclamation, but the instant it had escaped me I could have kicked myself for having made it. “I beg your pardon,” I murmured, awkwardly. “I said you wouldn’t understand,” Aiken answered. Then, to show he did not wish to speak with me further, he spurred his mule into a trot and kept a distance between us. Our trail ran over soft, spongy ground and was shut in on either hand by a wet jungle of tangled vines and creepers. They interlaced like the strands of a hammock, choking and strangling and clinging to each other in a great web. From the jungle we came to ill-smelling pools of mud and water, over which hung a white mist which rose as high as our heads. It was so heavy with moisture that our clothing dripped with it, and we were chilled until our teeth chattered. But by five o’clock in the morning we had escaped the coast swamps, and reached higher ground and the village of Sagua la Grande, and the sun was drying our clothes and taking the stiffness out of our bones. CANAL COMPANY’S FEVER HOSPITAL, PANAMA