Ramirez had looked like a fellow to be trusted. Yet, if Hal had kept the money about him, it would soon pass into the hands of Vasquez, who would be able to persuade the Spanish judges that his claim was just. “If Ramirez has stolen it,” quivered Hal, “all I can say is that I’d sooner see him get it than Vasquez.” Tramp! tramp! tramp! Reaching the head of the stairs, the soldiers were now marching straight for his door. Whack! thump! The door was thrown unceremoniously open, and the uniforms of Spain filled the room. CHAPTER III. “SPANISH EVIDENCE.” “This is the young man?” One of the two officers who appeared at the head of a file of a dozen soldiers turned and put the question to Senor Vasquez. That consummate liar responded by a nod of the head. Though Hal Maynard had not studied his attitude, he stood at that moment a typical young American. With feet rather spread, his hands thrust into his trousers pockets, shoulders manfully back and head inclining slightly forward, he ignored Vasquez, but regarded the officers with a rather indolent look in which there was just a trace of curiosity. “A visitation, I presume?” he said, addressing one of the officers in Spanish. But the latter, barely looking at him, turned to the other officer to command: “Search the trunk.” “It is locked,” said Hal, stepping slowly forward. “Permit me to offer you the key.” The officer who received it merely grunted, and immediately knelt before the trunk. Hal stood by looking on, until one of the soldiers, after scowling at him an instant, darted forward and gave the boy a push. “If I am in your way,” retorted Maynard, recovering his equilibrium, “won’t you be kind enough to say so?” “Silence!” ordered the commanding officer. Hal responded by a polite nod. “These officers don’t belong to the mob, and they should be gentlemen,” he murmured. “If they’re not, it’s not for me to set them the example.” Flop! went a lot of Hal’s clothing, strewed promiscuously over the floor. Slap! followed his linen. Smash! went a small hand mirror, flung across the room so that it struck the wall and landed on the floor in atoms. “May I ask a question, sir?” queried Hal, turning to the officer in charge. “Silence!” “I beg your pardon,” went on Hal, imperturbably. “All I wanted to ask was whether my property is to be ruthlessly destroyed before a charge has been even made against me?” “Silence!” “If I had committed any breach of decorum in asking,” pursued Hal, calmly, “please consider that I didn’t ask.” “Silence!” Thump! The butt of a soldier’s musket landed forcibly in Hal’s stomach. “Ouch!” grunted the boy. “Silence!” “Not even allowed to express natural emotion,” murmured our hero. He couldn’t have talked much in his breathless condition, just then, even if he wanted to. He saw the soldier’s musket-butt aimed at him, and dodged as nimbly as he could. Click! Another soldier cocked his weapon, aiming fully at the American’s head.