Half an hour later, Senator Hanley, Miss Cairns, and Livingstone came up the waterfront, and entering the consulate, seated themselves around Marshall’s desk. Livingstone was sunk in melancholy. The senator, on the contrary, was smiling broadly. His manner was one of distinct relief. He greeted the consul with hearty good-humor. “I’m ordered home!” he announced gleefully. Then, remembering the presence of Livingstone, he hastened to add: “I needn’t say how sorry I am to give up my yachting trip, but orders are orders. The President,” he explained to Marshall, “cables me this morning to come back and take my coat off.” The prospect, as a change from playing bridge on a pleasure boat, seemed far from depressing him. “Those filibusters in the Senate,” he continued genially, “are making trouble again. They think they’ve got me out of the way for another month, but they’ll find they’re wrong. When that bill comes up, they’ll find me at the old stand and ready for business!” Marshall did not attempt to conceal his personal disappointment. “I am so sorry you are leaving,” he said; “selfishly sorry, I mean. I’d hoped you all would be here for several days.” He looked inquiringly toward Livingstone. “I understood the _Serapis_ was disabled,” he explained. “She is,” answered Hanley. “So’s the _Raleigh_. At a pinch, the admiral might have stretched the regulations and carried me to Jamaica, but the _Raleigh’s_ engines are knocked about too. I’ve GOT to reach Kingston Thursday. The German boat leaves there Thursday for New York. At first it looked as though I couldn’t do it, but we find that the Royal Mail is due to-day, and she can get to Kingston Wednesday night. It’s a great piece of luck. I wouldn’t bother you with my troubles,” the senator explained pleasantly, “but the agent of the Royal Mail here won’t sell me a ticket until you’ve put your seal to this.” He extended a piece of printed paper. As Hanley had been talking, the face of the consul had grown grave. He accepted the paper, but did not look at it. Instead, he regarded the senator with troubled eyes. When he spoke, his tone was one of genuine concern. “It is most unfortunate,” he said. “But I am afraid the _Royal Mail_ will not take you on board. Because of Las Bocas,” he explained. “If we had only known!” he added remorsefully. “It is _most_ unfortunate.” “Because of Las Bocas?” echoed Hanley. “You don’t mean they’ll refuse to take me to Jamaica because I spent half an hour at the end of a wharf listening to a squeaky gramophone?” “The trouble,” explained Marshall, “is this: if they carried you, all the other passengers would be held in quarantine for ten days, and there are fines to pay, and there would be difficulties over the mails. But,” he added hopefully, “maybe the regulations have been altered. I will see her captain, and tell him——”