“Hum,” pondered Ned, “maybe this girl is some relation.” “Maybe; there’s a good catch for you, Ned,” laughed Stanley, “for this will disposes of an estate worth almost a million, and that’s a lot of money down here.” “Or any other place,” grinned Herc, clinking what remained of his last month’s pay. “Well, what are we going to do about it?” inquired Ned. “Just hang on to it for a while,” counseled Stanley, handing back the paper. “I’d advise you to consult with Lieutenant Timmons or the American consul, and then we can learn better what to do about it. After all, the Guzman named here may be down in the Argentine for all we know. It’s a common enough name in South America.” “That’s so,” agreed Ned, “but the ship hailed from this port, or so her papers said.” “That’s right,” agreed Stanley, “but what was old de Guzman, supposing he is, or was, worth a million, doing in her galley?” “That’s a poser,” cried Herc. “It’s like a scattered Chinese puzzle,” muttered Ned. “I wonder if we shall ever be able to put it together. Hello!” He started to his feet suddenly and ran rapidly round the table to the other side of the arbor. “What are you doing--chasing yourself round the block for exercise?” demanded the astonished Herc. “No, but I’m almost certain that I saw some one dodge behind those palms yonder as I jumped up. Just before that I heard a rustling in the creepers behind you.” “Somebody rubbering?” “That’s what it looked like. I don’t know what to make of it.” “I do,” put in Stanley, rubbing his grizzled chin. “What, then?” “That was a mighty interesting conversation we were just having.” “To whom but ourselves?” “To any one named Guzman, or kin to the Guzmans,” pronounced Stanley gravely. “By hookey, you’re right! Who do you think it could have been?” “I haven’t got any idea. Maybe our friend, the handsome waiter,” suggested Herc. “I wonder,” mused Ned, but at that instant, as if to contradict his thoughts, the proprietor of the Villa Espenza appeared from quite another direction, balancing his tray gracefully and humming a song. “Is there any one but ourselves here to-day?” inquired Ned, as he came up. “Alas! no,” was the reply, “business is very bad. You are the only customers we have had for some days. The revolution has put business--what you Americans call ‘to the bad.’” After ordering and drinking more sodas the boys and their older companion rose and, bidding farewell to the bowing proprietor and promising to call again, started for the ship. “Say, that fellow reminds me of somebody, and I can’t think who,” said Ned, as they set off down the hillside. “Same here,” murmured Herc. “I have it!” he exclaimed suddenly, “that chap in Brooklyn--the fellow who wanted to know what was going on on board the _Beale_.” “Oh, that dago,” grunted Stanley, who was acquainted with the incident, which the boys had related to him. “Somehow I’ve got an idea you’ll hear more of that chap.”