“Yes,” said Appleby, “so far as I can remember. I was going from the banker’s to the ‘Four Nations’ when I became aware that there was a man following me. To avoid him I slipped into this doorway, where another man was waiting. It was my pistol you heard, but the other man, whom I had not expected, had his fingers on my throat, and I was helpless when these others appeared.” The civile made a little gesture of comprehension, and then, tilting up his chin, laid his fingers on his throat. “The head drawn back—and the thumb so! With the knee in the back at the same time it was as sure as the knife. The señor is to be felicitated on his escape. But the motive? Even in Santa Marta men do not fall upon a stranger without a purpose.” Appleby, who was on his guard at once, felt his pockets, and was sensible of a vast relief when he found the letter the banker had given him was still in his possession. The other in his outer pocket had, however, as he expected, disappeared. “I think their purpose was evident. It is for money one usually goes to a banker’s,” he said. “It is also known that I have dealings with the Señor Suarez. Still, thanks to the promptness of the gentlemen here, nothing of importance has been taken from me.” The civile with the lantern glanced at his comrade, who nodded. “It would be wiser to go there in the daylight another time,” said the latter as he held out Appleby’s pistol, which he had unobtrusively looked for and picked up. “One cartridge burned—it confirms the story! You would not recognize the men who attacked you?” “No,” said Appleby, and the peon whom the civile turned to shook his head emphatically. “It was very dark,” he said. The civiles asked a few more questions, and then one of them insisted on escorting Appleby, who apparently failed to make the peons understand that he desired a word with them, to the “Four Nations.” The man, however, left him outside the hotel, and Appleby had spent a few minutes there waiting for his mule when one of the peons came quietly up to him in the patio. “The señor lost this letter not long ago?” he said. “I did,” said Appleby, taking the envelope. “Where did you find it?” The peon smiled in a curious fashion. “It seems you know our country. I took it from the man Vincente felled, but it did not seem wise to mention it before the civiles. They have sharp eyes, those gentlemen.” “I am indebted,” said Appleby. “It is, however, of no importance.” The peon smiled again. “And yet you knew you had lost it, and said nothing. Why would one run a risk to seize a letter?” “I don’t know,” said Appleby. “Nor am I sure why you and your companion should take so much trouble to guard a stranger. I would not, of course, offend you by suggesting that you did it to repay me for a glass of Vermouth.” “For the charity then?” said the peon, smiling. “I do not think so,” said Appleby, who looked at him steadily.