Devlin glanced into the hallway. He dared not leave his prisoner, so he gruffly ordered him to march in front of him. Halting inside the front door, he sang out in a tremendous voice: "Oh, you Alfaro! Get a jump on yourself." The faithful Colombian heard the summons and dashed in as the door was unbolted. "Are you killed?" he gasped. "Not by a considerable majority, my son. Captain Brincker and I had an argument. I win. Here, don't step between him and the gun in my fist. Do you know where to find a launch in a hurry and a man to run it?" "Yes. My friend Antonio Varilla, who dined with me to-night, has a fast gasolene boat." "Can you find him to-night?" "He was going from the hotel to the University Club of Panama to play a match at billiards. He will be there now. Tell me, where is Goodwin?" "I'm going to send you to find him, Alfaro. My Spanish is very rocky or I'd do the trick myself and leave you on sentry duty with the prisoner. You get that launch and you look for the _Juan Lopez_, understand? She is in the bay, between here and Balboa. And you put it up to General Quesada that his right-hand man, Captain Brincker, is too busy looking into the muzzle of a gun to join the expedition. If Goodwin comes back with you, Captain Brincker goes free. Otherwise I'll march this gray-headed reprobate to the Ancon jail as a filibuster caught in the act. And he'll get about five years. Uncle Sam is mighty hostile to anybody who tries to touch off a revolution in these little Central American republics." Alfaro nodded with eager approval. Here was a crafty, resourceful stratagem after his own heart. Devlin was a most admirable leader. "I will find the launch in a hurry," said he, "and I will enjoy making a speech to General Quesada. Trust me to do my share. Shall I come back to this house?" "Yes. I will not deprive Captain Brincker of my society. And you may tell General Quesada that I intend to camp on his trail till I get his scalp, too." Alfaro vanished at top speed and Devlin prodded his captive back to the _patio_. Under the circumstances, the soldier of fortune was not the most entertaining company. They sat facing each other in the wicker chairs while the hours dragged their slow length along. The house was otherwise deserted. The servants had been dismissed earlier in the day. The thick stone walls shut out the street sounds, but the open windows overlooking the bay admitted the murmuring noise of the waves on the beach. At length Devlin heard the staccato explosions of a launch's engine, diminishing in the distance. He hoped that Alfaro was on his way. The tense excitement of the situation had slackened. Devlin was feeling the nervous strain, and with a yawn he suggested: "What about making some black coffee, Captain Brincker? You and I are in for a late session to-night. Shall I convoy you into the kitchen? I will poke the gun at you no more than I can help."