“Very well. Then this is the disposition of your case: At ten to-night you shall be rowed across the harbor to Morro Castle. Once in a dungeon there you will be out of my jurisdiction, and thenceforth under the eye of General Blanco.” All the while Senor Vasquez had stood by looking silently on with his eager, burning eyes. “One moment,” he now interposed. “May I have a word with the prisoner.” “To one of such known loyalty as Senor Vasquez,” replied the police official, politely, “no favor can be refused.” Vasquez led our hero to the other end of the room. “You are to go to Morro Castle,” whispered the Spaniard, warningly. “Do you know what that means?” “Yes,” retorted Hal. “Solitary confinement until----” “Until----” followed Vasquez, eagerly. “Until American sailors and soldiers purify that loathsome place by planting the American flag over it.” “Fool!” hissed Vasquez. “Do you imagine you will ever reach Morro?” “I know only what that official said.” “Well, then, let me tell you,” snarled the Spaniard, “that you will only embark in a boat that will start across the harbor. By and by that boat will return without you, but you will never have reached Morro! You will never be heard from again!” “And it is for this you have plotted?” cried Hal, paling, but otherwise keeping his composure. “If I have plotted,” murmured Vasquez, rapidly, “it was for my own good. You would not expect me to serve another than myself, would you?” “No!” came the answer, with withering sarcasm. “Now, my young friend,” went on the plotter, dropping into a cooing voice, “if I am a dangerous enemy, let us forget that. I am also a good friend. Your employer owed me the money which you collected. Put me in the way of finding that, and I have influence enough here to secure your freedom.” “Now, listen to me,” retorted Hal, spiritedly. “Whether my employer owes you the money or not is nothing for me to decide. But I will tell you this honestly: I don’t know where the money is, at this moment. If I wanted to play into your hands, I simply couldn’t.” “You are lying!” gnashed Vasquez, but a searching look into the boy’s face soon convinced that shrewd judge of human nature that Maynard spoke the truth. “I am not going to waste more time on you,” went on the Spaniard, passionately. “If you send for me before it is too late, I will come. As you value even a few more days of life, don’t tempt fate by taking the trip across the harbor to-night!” Murmuring these words in the boy’s ears, the scoundrel turned to dart way. As he did so, another man moved forward, saying quietly: “I will speak with the prisoner now.” Hal did not know the speaker until Vasquez stammered: “The British consul general!” “Yes,” replied the visitor, Mr. Gollan, “I was informed that a British subject named Maynard had been arrested. I hurried here only to learn that Maynard is an American citizen. Is that the case?” “It is, sir,” affirmed Hal.