away. Within an hour this
gentleman, Mr. Kerbach, received a telegram short and imperative: 'Go
Amalfi.' Not waiting an explanation Kerbach replied 'Gone!'--reached
Amalfi in due course, and found another telegram containing a hint that
sufficed, 'New Odontoglossum.'

Kerbach began to inquire the same day. It was hardly credible that an
orchid of importance could have been overlooked in the neighbourhood of
Amalfi, where collectors--French, Belgian, and English--had been busy for
years. A hunt there would be very unpromising. Kerbach wandered about,
asking questions. Thus at Medellin he made acquaintance with a Bank clerk.
It may be noted, by the way, that the inhabitants of that busy and
thriving town, the bulk of them, are descendants of Maranos--that is, Jews
converted by the processes of the Inquisition. Doubtless there are records
which explain why and how many thousands of those people assembled in a
remote district of New Granada, but they themselves appear to have lost
the tradition; they have lost their ancestral faith also, for there are no
more devout Catholics. The religious instincts of the race assert
themselves, however, for New Granadans in general are not more fervent
than other creoles of South America, while the town of Medellin is an
oasis of piety.

The Bank clerk was questioned as usual, though not a likely person to take
note of plants. 'Why,' said he, 'there was a customer of ours at the Bank
yesterday, swearing like a wild Indian at orchids and everybody connected
with them. I should advise you to keep out of his way.'

'What have the orchids done to him?' asked Kerbach.

'I wasn't listening, but I'll inquire.' And presently he brought the
explanation. A young French collector had been in those parts some years
before. He stayed a while at the planter's house, and there discovered an
orchid which stirred him to enthusiasm. After gathering a quantity he made
arrangements with his host for a shipment to follow next season, promising
a sum which astonished the native. But this young man was drowned in the
Couca. After a while Don Filipe resolved to despatch a few of the weeds
on his own account to Europe, and he consigned them to a friend at
Barranquilla. But the friend never returned him a farthing. He had handed
the case to some one else for shipment, and this some one, he said, could
not get his money from England. It is pleasant to hear, however, that Don
Filipe had implicit trust in Britis