"He seems very much pleased to get hold of you. I will try to cool his anger." General Quesada returned, grunting and swearing to himself. After hanging the precious parrot cage in a tree, he dropped heavily into a wicker chair and sat staring at Walter with the most malicious satisfaction. Occasionally he chuckled as if here was a jest very much to his liking. Walter yearned for his broom-handle. He looked about for something which might serve as a weapon. Regardless of consequences, he would put his mark on the fat, ugly countenance once more. General Quesada read his purpose and gave an order to Captain Brincker. The two captors roughly hustled Walter into a large, empty room overlooking the bay, and so close to the water that the flooding tide could be heard lapping against the foundation walls. "You just wait until my government hears of this performance," cried Walter. "General Quesada will be chucked in jail, where he belongs." Captain Brincker replied in kindly tones: "Take my advice and do what you are told. It is the best policy." Left alone, Walter tried to persuade himself that no serious danger could menace him. The Isthmus was almost a part of the United States, and he was no more than a few minutes' drive from the Canal Zone, and the protection of his own people. General Quesada wished to frighten him into silence. Walter went to one of the long windows, which was barred against harbor thieves by ornamental iron grillwork. Misty and golden in the effulgence of sunset lay the fishing-boats, the wide bay, the scattered islands, and the steamers anchored off the quarantine station. The brief tropical twilight fled, and the night came down. After a long while a boat scraped against the sea-wall. He could discern it as a slow-moving shadow. Voices murmured in Spanish, an order was sharply uttered, and an oar rattled against the masonry. It did not occur to Walter that the coming of the boat had anything to do with him. He supposed that a crew of fishermen was making a belated landing. CHAPTER VI JACK DEVLIN IN ACTION Señor Fernandez Garcia Alfaro waited in the lobby of the Tivoli Hotel at Ancon until considerably after seven o'clock and no telephone message had come from his friend Walter Goodwin. Disappointed at having to dine alone, the Colombian diplomat wandered to the desk and again asked a clerk to make sure that no tidings had been sent him. He was possessed of an uneasy feeling that something might be wrong. He had not found time to make inquiries concerning Captain Brincker, but he wished Walter had not been so interested in keeping track of that hardened adventurer. Intrigue and mystery are native to the air of Spanish-American countries. One suspects whatever he does not understand.