But not money or any other agency is potent to stir Caracuñan officialdom to undue speed. Hence the observer from the heights, supposing that he had a personal interest in the proceedings, might have assured himself of ample time to reach the coast before the formalities could be completed and the ship put forth to sea. Had he presently humped himself to his feet with a sluggish effort, abandoned his field-glasses in favor of a pair of large greenish-brown goggles, and set out on a trail straight down the mountains, staggering a bit at the start, a second supposititious observer of the first supposititious observer—if such cumulative hypothesis be permissible—might have divined that the first supposititious observer was the Unspeakable Perk, going about other people’s business when he ought to have been in bed. And so, not to keep any reader in unendurable suspense, it was. While the Unspeakable Perk was making his way down the dim and narrow trail, another equally weary figure shambled out from the main road upon the flats and made for the landing. The apparel of Mr. Preston Fairfax Fitzhugh Carroll was in a condition that he would have deemed quite unfit for one of his station, had he been in a frame of mind to consider such matters at all. He was not. Affairs vastly more weighty and human occupied his mind. What he most wished was to find Miss Polly Brewster and unburden himself of them. At the entrance to the pier, he was detained by the American Consul. Cluff came running down the long structure in great strides. “Moses, Carroll! I’m glad to see you! Where’ve you been?” A week earlier, the scion of all the Virginias would have resented this familiarity from a professional athlete. But neither Mr. Carroll’s mind nor his heart was a sealed inclosure. He had learned much in the last few days. “Up on the mountain,” he said. “For Heaven’s sake, give me a drink, Cluff!” The other produced a flask. “You do look shot to pieces,” he commented. “Find Perk—Pruyn?” “Yes. I’ll tell you later. Where’s Miss Brewster?” “In her stateroom. Asleep, I guess. Said she wanted rest, and nobody was to disturb her till we sail.” “When do we start?” “Eight o’clock, they say. That means ten. Will Dr. Pruyn get here?” “He isn’t going with us.” “Oh, no. I forgot his Dutch permit. Well, he’d better use it quick, or he’ll go in a box when he does go. I wouldn’t insure his life for a two-cent stamp in this country.” “You wouldn’t if you’d seen what I saw last night,” said the Southerner, very low. Wisner, the busy, efficient little consul, who had been arranging with the officials for Carroll’s embarkation, now returned, bringing with him a viking of a man whom he introduced as Dr. Stark, of the United States Public Health Service. “Either of you know anything about Dr. Pruyn?” he inquired anxiously. “He’s on his way down the mountain now,” said Carroll. “Good! He’s ordered away, I’m glad to say. Just got the message.”