“No, don’t stop! Don’t look this way, or you’ll betray me,” came the whisper. “But hurry! The deadliest danger hovers over you in the next five minutes!” * * * * * Second Part. CHAPTER V. “A SPANIARD OF HONOR!” “Thanks!” The acknowledgment, softly uttered as the warning, floated back over Hal Maynard’s shoulder as he struck out on the double-quick for the water front. Once he turned. Over his shoulder he saw three indistinct figures following him down the street. Fast as he was traveling, the pursuers increased their speed until they seemed likely to overtake him. “Is this more of Vasquez’s deadly work?” groaned Hal. “Will he never stop until he has destroyed me?” Cold perspiration oozed out on the boy’s forehead. He broke into a swift run. At this gait, he calculated that less than three minutes would bring him to the English brig’s wharf. As he ran, he took a flying look over his shoulder. Hardly more than two hundred feet to the rear were the pursuers, their sandaled feet moving without noise. “I can beat them,” thrilled Hal, putting on an even better spurt of speed. Just ahead was the water-front street. Here, a swift turn to the right, and a speedy dash would carry him to the wharf he sought. Trip! Hal’s feet became entangled in something stretched across the sidewalk. He plunged, then fell to the sidewalk, measuring his full length there. More quickly than he could rise, a figure darted out of the doorway. Across the boy’s body a man hurled himself. “You’ll fight for it--sure!” vented Hal, gripping the stranger by the throat. They grappled, struggled, breath coming quick and short. Hal fought like a tiger. He quickly placed himself on top of his assailant, but could not wrench himself loose. Pit-patter-pat! Soft sandals struck the sidewalk as the three shadows rushed upon the scene. Not pausing an instant, they hurled themselves into the melee. Many hands grappled the boy at once. Maynard fought with renewed fury, but what could he do against so many? One seized him by either arm and shoulder, another grasped his kicking feet. “Help! help! help! Thieves!” roared the victim, but his captor-carriers did not even attempt to stifle his cries--the surest way of proving that they had no reason to fear interference. Hal’s first assailant now darted back into the doorway, unlocking a door, and making way for the squad to enter. Still kicking and squirming, Hal Maynard was carried through the house and out into a courtyard at the rear. Here he renewed his shouts, with no other effect than to make his captors smile maliciously. At the rear of the yard a gate was unlocked. Hal Maynard involuntarily crossed a second yard, after which those who carried him entered another house. Here he was carried into one of the rooms, and unceremoniously dumped upon the floor. “You stay there,” muttered he who appeared to be the spokesman, “unless you are foolish enough to try to escape.”