In an access of bravado he hurled some sharp speech at the general. “We know the secret of Don Maritano’s will!” If Ned had expected to produce a sensation he was gratified. The general wheeled with an oath, his hand on his sword hilt. For a second Ned saw that it was in his mind to draw it and run the bold American through. The girl, with her lips parted and with burning eyes, gave a scream. “The will of my father!” “Hush!” exclaimed the general. “Leave us at once.” He came threateningly toward Ned. The girl retreated a few steps, but made no further effort to obey her uncle’s command. “You insolent Americano!” he exclaimed, “What did you mean by those words?” “What I said,” shot out Ned, enjoying the other’s angry perplexity and manifest uneasiness, “we know of the will.” “Good heavens, Strong, what have you done?” whispered the midshipman. “What is this will?” “It is in the possession of Lieutenant Timmons, sir,” retorted Ned, “and may become a powerful instrument in our hands.” “I hope so, I am sure,” breathed Stark, “but just at present it looks as if it was an instrument to get us into more trouble.” For an instant General de Guzman seemed puzzled how to act. He toyed with the tassels on the hilt of his sword. A perplexed, worried look played over his features. “Evidently,” thought Ned, “there’s some mystery connected with the will, and in some wonderful way I’ve hit him in a tender spot.” Suddenly the general spoke. He addressed Charbonde. “Take these men under a strong escort to Miraflores prison,” he commanded. “I will decide on their fate later.” Surrounded as they were, there was not the slightest use in making any resistance. Even a show of it might have resulted fatally. Our heroes therefore submitted with the best grace they could to being marched like convicted felons from the headquarters of the insurgent leader. As they left the place and emerged into the blinding sunlight, which lay scorchingly on the camp, a figure stepped up to them. With a flash of amazement Ned recognized Hank Harkins. The renegade American youth’s face was illumined by a malicious grin as he saw their plight. “Hullo, there!” he snarled, coming right up close to Ned, “getting a taste of the handcuffs, eh? They’ll shoot you sure as time, and I’ll be there to see.” Biff! Ned’s hot temper had suffered a sudden boiling over. It was a relief to find an outlet for it. As his fist collided with Hank Harkins’ grin, wiping it instantaneously into nothingness, the youth stumbled backward and fell in a heap on the ground. “Hit him another for me,” grunted Stanley, as he gazed with intense satisfaction on the recumbent form. CHAPTER XIV. A DRUM-HEAD COURT-MARTIAL.