stom we were under the
unfortunate necessity of requesting them to submit to the annoyance of
having their baggage and persons examined with a view to discovering
what weapons--

"Como no senores? All the examination you desire." Which was
exceedingly kind of them. Whereupon, when the Lieutenant had
interpreted to me their permission, we fell upon them and amid
countless expressions of mutual esteem gave them and their baggage such
a "frisking" as befalls a Kaffir leaving a South African diamond mine,
and found them armed with--a receipt from the quarantine doctor for
"one pearl-handled Smill and Wilson No. 32." Either they really
intended to postpone their little affair until they reached Panama, or
they had succeeded in concealing their weapons elsewhere.

The doctor and his assistant were already being rowed out to the
steamer that was to bring the victims. They were to be lodged in a room
across the corridor from the conspirators, which corridor it would be
our simple duty to patrol with a view to intercepting any exchange of
stray lead. We fell to planning such division of the twenty-four hours
as should give me the most talkative period. The Lieutenant took the
trouble further to convince the trio of my total ignorance of Spanish
by a distinct and elaborate explanation, in English, of the difference
between the words "muchacho" and "muchacha." Then we wandered down past
the grimy steerage station to the shore end of the little wharf to
await the doctor and our proteges.

The ocean breeze swept unhampered across the island; on its rocky shore
sounded the dull rumble of waves, for the sea was rolling a bit now.
The swelling tide covered inch by inch a sandy ridge that connected us
with another island, gradually drowning beneath its waters several
rusty old hulls. A little rocky wooded isle to the left cut off the
future entrance to the canal. Some miles away across the bay on the
lower slope of a long hill drowsed the city of Panama in brilliant
sunshine; and beyond, the hazy mountainous country stretched
southwestward to be lost in the molten horizon. On a distant hill some
Indian was burning off a patch of jungle to plant his corn.

Meanwhile the Lieutenant and the Corporal had settled some Lombroso
proposition and fallen to reciting poetry. The former, who was
evidently a lover of melancholy, mouth-filling verse, was declaiming
"The Raven" to the open sea. I listened in wonder. Was this then police
talk? I h