A few minutes later, the checker left the gangway and also headed for the station. Walter followed them into a train for Ancon, but they did not sit together, and paid no attention to each other. This was unexpected. When they left the train, the slouchy, ill-favored young man climbed into a cab, while the grizzled soldier of fortune sturdily set out on foot into Panama city. Walter had fought shy of invading Panamanian territory because of General Quesada and the native police, but he could not bear to quit the chase. He straightway chartered a cab and made the Spanish-speaking _cochero_ understand that he was to follow the chariot aforesaid. The weary, overworked little horses jogged slowly through the picturesque streets of balconied stone houses and mouldering churches and ramparts recalling the storied age of the _Conquistadores_. Old Panama and the Canal Zone, side by side, vividly contrasted the romantic past and the practical, hustling present. The cab of the checker passed the plaza with its palms and flowers, and made toward the city water-front. The narrow streets framed bright glimpses of the blue Bay of Panama. At length Walter bade his _cochero_ halt. The slouchy young man whom he was pursuing had dismissed his vehicle and was entering a large weather-worn house of stucco, one of a solid block in a little thoroughfare close to the crumbling sea-wall. "It is my business to find out who lives there," reflected Walter. "I'm sure that Americans from the Canal Zone are unlikely to have honest errands in this corner of Panama." He forsook his cab and walked slowly along the street. The row of houses resembled an extended wall of stone pierced by windows and doors. It was puzzling to make certain into which of them the suspected young man had gone. Walter counted the doors from the corner to verify his observation and paused to scan the entrance, hoping to find a street number or name-plate. He might ask questions of a policeman, but this was impracticable for three reasons: first, he could not speak Spanish; second, he had no fondness for Panama policemen; third, there was no policeman to be found. Feeling rather foolish, he waylaid a barefooted boy and fished for information with earnest gestures, but the youngster shook his head and fled into the nearest alley. "I should have brought Alfaro with me," sighed Walter. "I am as helpless as a stranded fish. These people ought to be compelled to learn English." Still standing in front of the house and wearing an absent-minded, worried manner, Walter had forgotten for the moment that he was playing a game which required wit and vigilance. From around the nearest corner, no more than a few yards away, appeared the robust figure of Captain Brincker. At sight of the youth with the bandaged arm, he stopped in his tracks, muttered something, and gazed with open unfriendliness.