American Legation to
present the letters of introduction he had brought from New York and
to tell his story. Thus supplied with credentials and facts, the
official might be prepared to assist him.

His second step--the test upon which he mainly depended--involved a
search for a yellow cathedral wall, surrounded with red flowers and
facing an open area. There, Saxon wanted to stand, for a moment,
against the masonry, with the sounds of the street in his ears and the
rank fragrance of the vine in his nostrils. There he would ask his
memory, under the influence of these reminders, the question the
water-front had failed to answer.

That wandering, however, should be reserved for the less conspicuous
time of night. He would spend the greater part of the day, since his
status was so dubious, in the protection of his room at the hotel.

If night did not answer the question, he would go again at sunrise,
and await the early glare on the wall, since that would exactly
duplicate former conditions. The night influences would be softer,
less cruel--and less exact, but he would go first by darkness and
reconnoiter the ground--unless his riddle were solved before.

The American Legation, he was informed, stood as did his hostelry, on
the main Plaza, only a few doors distant and directly opposite the
palace of the President.

He was met by Mr. Partridge, the secretary of legation. The minister
was spending several days at Miravista, but was expected back that
evening, or to-morrow morning at the latest. In the meantime, if the
secretary could be of service to a countryman, he would be glad. The
secretary was a likable young fellow with frank American eyes. He
fancied Saxon's face, and was accordingly cordial.

"There is quite a decent club here for Anglo-Saxon exiles," announced
Mr. Partridge. "Possibly, you'd like to look in? I'm occupied for the
day, but I'll drop around for you this evening, and make you out a
card."

Saxon left his letters with the secretary to be given to the chief on
arrival, and returned to the "Frances y Ingles."

He did not again emerge from his room until evening, and, as he left
the _patio_ of the hotel for his journey to the old cathedral, the
moon was shining brightly between the shadows of the adobe walls and
the balconies that hung above the pavements. As he went out through
the street-door, Mr. Howard Stanley Rodman glanced furtively up from a
corner table, and tossed away a half-smoked ciga