“Is that so?” inquired Stark, simulating an interest he was far from feeling. “Yes, Senorita Isabelle de Guzman and----” He stopped short as a sharp exclamation burst from Ned’s lips. It was entirely involuntary, but our readers will understand his astonishment at the name of Senorita Isabelle de Guzman when they recall that she was the young woman named in the will found on board the derelict. “My companion suffers from a cold,” said Stark, with a sharp look at Ned, who, taking the hint, began to cough violently. He was glad of this excuse to cover his embarrassment, but his paroxysms did not prevent his keeping his ears open for the officer’s next words. “She is one of the most beautiful young women in this part of South America,” he went on. “Indeed,” commented Stark, “a prize for one of the general’s brave officers, perhaps?” “Oh, no,” rejoined the Spanish-American, as if shocked at the bare idea. “She has no property. There would be no estate, no marriage portion with her hand.” “Indeed! That is a requisite here, then?” “Unquestionably, senor. You see, Donna Isabelle’s father, Senor de Guzman, was formerly a prisoner of the government, but he fled on a ship, which was never heard of again. It is whispered that he had expressed a wish to his brother, the general, that the estate might pass into the hands of his daughter. But, however that was, the general, as the next of kin, now enjoys it.” “If only I had that will here,” thought Ned, and then the next instant reconsidered the matter. With things going the way they were, the document was unquestionably better off where it was. The sound of loud voices came to them as they neared the villa, and through the open windows the boys could see bright uniforms grouped about a table, which was littered with maps and plans. “Ah, the general is busy, and I dare not disturb him now,” said the young officer, as they entered the villa and emerged into a courtyard, the “patio” common to all Spanish-American houses. It was delightfully cool there after the hot, dusty glare of the camp. “Well, we will stroll outside a bit and come back later on, old chap,” suggested Stark, glad to see a loophole of escape from the lion’s den into which he was beginning to imagine they had thrust themselves. “Oh, no, senor,” said the young officer in quite a horrified tone. “The general would wish to see you. He may besides, perhaps, wish to question you concerning affairs in the town and relating to the small American vessel of war.” “The deuce he will,” thought Stark. “Confounded little in the way of information he’ll get.” Aloud he said: “We shall be delighted, old fellow. Anything at all, you know. Delighted, I’m sure.” “Phew!” whistled Ned in a low tone, “we’ve walked into a mouse-trap with a vengeance, and,” he added to himself as a heavy tread sounded, mingled with the jingling of a sword, “here comes the cat.”