“By no means! The market is the last place where any of us should be seen. It is in that section that Urgante has been doing his work.” “Who is he?” “A wandering demagogue and cheap politician. Abuse of the ‘Yankis’ is his stock in trade. Somebody has been furnishing him money lately. That’s the sole fuel to his fires of oratory.” “Bet the bills smelled of sauerkraut when they reached him,” grunted Cluff, striding over to the window of the drawing-room, where the informal conference was being held. “They may have had a Hochwaldian origin,” admitted Sherwen. “But it would be difficult to prove.” “At least the Hochwald Legation wouldn’t shed any tears over a demonstration against us,” said Carroll. “Well within the limits of diplomatic truth,” smiled the American official. “Pooh!” Mr. Brewster puffed the whole matter out of consideration. “I don’t believe a word of it. Some of my acquaintances at the club, men in high governmental positions, assure me that there is no anti-American feeling here.” “Very likely they do. Frankness and plain-speaking being, as you doubtless know, the distinguishing mark of the Caracuñan statesman.” The sarcasm was not lost upon Mr. Brewster, but it failed to shake his skepticism. “There are some business matters that require that I should go to the office of the Ferro carril del Norte this afternoon,” he said. “I beg that you do nothing of the sort,” cried Sherwen sharply. The magnate hesitated. He glanced out of the window and along the street, close bounded by blank-walled houses, each with its eyes closed against the sun. A solitary figure strode rapidly across it. “There’s that bug-hunting fellow again,” said Mr. Brewster. “He’s an American, I guess,—God save the mark! Nobody seems to be interfering with _him_, and he’s freaky enough looking to start a riot on Broadway.” Further comment was checked by the voice of the scientist at the door, asking to see Mr. Sherwen at once. Miss Polly immediately slipped out of the room to the _patio_, followed by Carroll and Cluff. “My business, probably,” remarked Mr. Brewster. “I’ll just stay and see.” And he stayed. So far as the newcomer was concerned, however, he might as well not have been there; so he felt, with unwonted injury. The scientist, disregarding him wholly, shook hands with Sherwen. “Have you heard from Wisner yet?” “Yes. An hour ago.” “What was his message?” “All right, any time to-day.” “Good! Better get them down to-night, then, so they can start to-morrow morning.” “Will Stark pass them?” “Under restrictions. That’s all been seen to.” At this point it appeared to Mr. Brewster that he had figured as a cipher quite long enough. “Am I right in assuming that you are talking of my party’s departure?” he inquired. “Yes,” said Sherwen. “The Dutch will let you through the blockade.” “Then my cablegram reached the proper parties at Washington,” said the magnate, with an I-knew-it-would-be-that-way air. “Thanks to Mr. Perkins.”