’There’s not going to be any firing after all,’ the Angel said sadly. ’Look how peaceably all the people are clearing out.’ ’Well, come along,’ I sang out, ’we’ll go along to the Club,’ so we picked up our hats and sticks, opened the door, and ran ’slick’ into the arms of that ugly little chap I’d seen outside the Club—the one Gerald said had been shadowing him. He had half-a-dozen sturdy nigger soldiers behind him, and he held up a blue paper in front of me, grinning cunningly—hateful little beast. I couldn’t read the lingo, but there was Señor Gerald Wilson written among the print, and a scrawling ’José Canilla’ at the bottom, so I guessed at once that this was a warrant for Gerald’s arrest, and that he must have given the little beast the slip. The nigger chaps began closing round me, and had the cheek to try and seize hold of my wrists. Well, I’m pretty strong, and I’m pretty bad-tempered too, and this was too much for me. I’d torn the warrant to bits, punched Gerald’s friend good and hard in the face, and laid out the first two chaps who’d touched me—banged their heads against the woodwork of the narrow passage, before I’d thought of it—but then the others drew their revolvers, and that wasn’t playing the game. I yelled to the mids., shoved them back into the room, banged the door, and slipped two bolts in as the chaps charged it. ’Lean out and try to get some of our fellows to help us,’ I sang out; ’I’ll hang on to the door.’ It was the first idea that came, but then it flashed through my head that the longer I kept them fooling round after me, the more chance Gerald would have of escaping—I knew now that that was what he must be doing. ’Slide down into the street—over the balcony—get to the Club—and tell the Skipper I’ve been arrested,’ I yelled out. ’Ain’t going to leave you,’ the Angel and Bob cried, and came in again and got their shoulders against the door. ’There’s not a single one of our chaps about,’ they panted, pushing against the creaking door. My Christopher! it was a shoving match. Luckily the passage outside was so narrow that only two people abreast could shove properly, but the screws in the clasps of the bolts at the top of the door began to ’draw,’ and I knew we couldn’t hold them for long. Then they fired a pistol through the door—high up—the bullet smashing against the opposite wall. I knew it was no use staying any longer, I didn’t want a bullet in me. ’Clear out, and I’ll come too,’ I sang out, and we bolted to the window, climbed over the balcony, and shinned down the iron uprights. As my feet touched the pavement, a dozen soldiers threw themselves on top of me; I hadn’t a chance to strike out, my head was covered with a cloak, and the next I knew I was inside the hotel bar, being trussed like a turkey.