"He can't get far," Scotty said reassuringly. "The road goes to San Souci and nowhere else. It can't be much of a town, so we'll find him." Scotty was right. San Souci wasn't much of a town. There were a handful of fishermen's huts, a dock with a number of fishing boats, racks for drying fish, a single store, and nothing else. There was a paved road leading from the town to the main city of Calor, but Connel hadn't taken it. Nor was the jeep in San Souci. Rick's halting Spanish was sufficient to communicate with a fisherman who spoke equally halting English. He had been taking the air all evening. No other vehicle had come to San Souci. "Now what?" Rick asked helplessly. "He went somewhere," Scotty responded. "And that somewhere has to be a turnoff between here and the pumice works. We must have missed it because we traveled without lights. Let's go back and look." "I'm with you," Rick agreed. "But wherever he turned off must be a trail, because there are no side roads on the map." He swung the jeep around and started back. He had turned on the headlights as they approached the fishing village; he kept them on. They found the turnoff about a mile from San Souci. The road widened slightly, and there was an opening in the foliage just wide enough for a car. Twin gateposts of concrete marked the passage. Rick turned the jeep, and the headlights picked out a name cut in the concrete pillars: _Casa Guevara_. "Someone's house," Rick said. "Name of Guevara. We can't very well go rolling up a private driveway, can we?" "Especially with that sign," Scotty added. He pointed to a wooden sign set slightly to one side of the private road just beyond the gate. It read _No Entrar_. No Trespassing. "Question," Rick said thoughtfully. "Did Connel go up this road or is there another one?" "No evidence," Scotty replied. Rick pointed to the gatepost. "Who do we know that's named Guevara?" Scotty breathed, "Sure! The lieutenant governor!" "And he took Connel to the hospital to see Ruiz," Rick reminded, "so they're acquainted." He switched off the lights. "That's probably the answer. Connel was invited to pay a social call. Why not? This probably has nothing to do with the project at all." Scotty sighed audibly. "The trouble with you is that you come up with sensible answers. We might as well go on back to the hotel." "Might as well . . ." Rick began, then stopped as light appeared dimly through the foliage up the private driveway. They were headlights! "We've got to get out of here," he said, and threw the jeep into gear. For a moment he hesitated. If he went up the dirt road to the hotel, Connel would surely see them. If Rick went back toward San Souci and the oncoming car was not Connel, but someone from Casa Guevara, the car might also turn toward San Souci, and the boys would be seen.