et myself. But to me,
men like that are intolerable."

Vicenti was not to be mollified.

"Then you had better avoid their presence," he said angrily.

With an impatient gesture he motioned the two Americans into the
corridor, and in distress approached the prisoner.

"I apologize, sir," he said, "for having subjected you to such an
incident."

But General Rojas made no answer. To his surprise, Vicenti found that
the old man was suffering from the scene even more keenly than he had
feared. Like one suddenly bereft of strength, General Rojas had sunk
into his chair. His bloodless, delicate hands trembled upon the table.
Great tears crept down his white, wrinkled face. In the two years
through which the young doctor had watched his patient he had never
before seen in his eyes the strange, mad light that now shone there.
To the medical man, it meant only that the end was nearer than he had
supposed. Shocked and grieved, the doctor made a movement to withdraw.

"I am deeply sorry," he murmured.

General Rojas raised his head. With an effort he drew over his face
its customary, deathlike mask.

"It is nothing!" he exclaimed. "What is one more insult, what is one
more degradation, when I know that my end is near!" He raised his
voice; it was strangely vigorous, youthful, jubilant; it carried
through the open bars to the far end of the corridor. "What does
anything matter," he cried, "when I know--that the end is near!" His
head sunk upon the table. To hide his tears, the General buried his
face in his hands.

Outside, in the darkness, Peter clutched Roddy by the hand, and for an
instant crushed it in his own.

"Do you hear?" he whispered. "He is answering you."

"Yes," stammered Roddy. The excitement or the dampness of the prison
had set him shivering, and with the back of his hand he wiped the cold
moisture from his forehead. He laughed mirthlessly. "Yes," he
answered, "he understood me. And now, we've _got_ to make good!"

That afternoon when the carriages of the aristocracy of Porto Cabello
were solemnly circling the Plaza, Roddy came upon McKildrick, seated
on one of the stone benches, observing the parade of local wealth and
fashion with eyes that missed nothing and told nothing. McKildrick was
a fine type of the self-taught American. He possessed a thorough
knowledge of his profession, executive skill, the gift of handling
men, and the added glory of having "worked his way up." He was tall,
lean, thin-lip