When Howard reached the inspector's side, he was at once ordered into one of the smaller cabins. Two men attended him, and searched his clothing from head to foot, and even pulled off the heavy boots he wore. In the meantime, the light overcoat had been thrown lightly on an adjacent chair. The inspector was much chagrined at finding nothing to confirm the suspicions Barbados had cast on the young war correspondent, and sent for the captain to explain matters. The pair talked outside of the cabin door for several minutes, and finally Howard was sent to the other end of the boat, among several others who were detained, while the remainder of the passengers were allowed to go on shore with their luggage. It was nightfall before the young war correspondent was told he was free to go where he pleased, so long as he remained within the city limits. Should he venture outside without the password (and that was not furnished to him) he would be shot. A hasty examination was made of his overcoat, but, luckily, the weapon--the only one he possessed--was not brought to light. On reaching the landing, Howard at once made his way to the Anglo-American Club, where he was kindly received by a dozen or more men, all anxious to see an American face and hear the latest gossip from New York. But Howard was in no mood to spend time with them. He had come on two important missions--one for himself, and one for the press association he represented--and he realized that he must make the best possible use of his time. Besides, there was sweet Estella! How he longed to be again at her side! He was glad she had taken the letters, for now he would have the chance to converse with her once more before she left Santiago for her home in the interior. It was an easy matter to ascertain where the Plaza del Silveo was situated--up at the farther end of one of the main streets of the town. Half-past seven found him on his way thither, his pistol in his pocket, and on the lookout for any spy who might be dogging his footsteps. The plaza reached, Howard gazed up and down the square, and into the narrow and dirty streets beyond. Only a few persons were in sight, and Estella was not among them. "Help! Help!" The cry, ringing out so unexpectedly upon the evening air, caused his heart to give a great bound. It was Estella's voice, and she was evidently in dire need of assistance. The call came from a house up the narrow street. The young war correspondent turned quickly in the direction whence the voice had come, and in a few moments he saw Estella hastily approaching, closely pursued by a Spanish officer. "Let me go!" he heard her cry, as the burly officer caught her about the waist. "Release me, I command you!" "Not quite yet, my little Cuban rebel!" returned the officer. "You're a perfect little Tartar, but you sha'n't escape me!"