rges of dynamite sufficiently strong to force a breach in the wall
through which Rojas could escape into the tunnel, and yet not so
strong as to throw the wall upon Rojas and any one who might be with
him.

"And I," cried Vicenti, "will be the one who will be with him!"

"Good!" said Roddy. "That's what we hoped. It will be your part, then,
to prepare General Rojas, to keep him away from the wall when we blow
it open, and to pass him through the breach to us. Everything will
have to be arranged beforehand. We can't signal through the wall or
they would hear it. We can only agree in advance as to the exact
moment it is to fall, and then trust that nothing will hang fire,
either on your side of the barrier or on ours."

"And after we get him into the tunnel!" warned Vicenti, as excited as
though the fact were already accomplished, "we must still fight for
his life. The explosion will bring every soldier in the fortress to
the cell, and they will follow us."

"There's several sharp turns in the tunnel," said McKildrick "and
behind one of them a man with a revolver could hold back the lot!"

"I speak to do that!" cried Roddy jealously. "I speak to be Horatius!"

"'And I will stand on thy right hand,'" declared Peter; "'and hold the
bridge with thee.' But you know, Roddy," he added earnestly, "you're
an awful bad shot. If you go shooting up that subway in the dark
you'll kill both of us. You'd better take a base-ball bat and swat
them as they come round the turn."

"And then," cried Roddy, springing to his feet, "we'll rush Rojas down
to the launch! And in twelve hours we'll land him safe in Curacao.
Heavens!" he exclaimed, "what a reception they'll give him!"

The cold and acid tones of McKildrick cast a sudden chill upon the
enthusiasm.

"Before we design the triumphal arches," he said, "suppose we first
get him out of prison."

When at last the conference came to an end and Vicenti rose to go,
Roddy declared himself too excited to sleep and volunteered to
accompany the doctor to his door. But the cause of his insomnia was
not General Rojas but the daughter of General Rojas, and what called
him forth into the moonlit Alameda was his need to think undisturbed
of Inez, and, before he slept, to wish "good-night" to the house that
sheltered her. In this vigil Roddy found a deep and melancholy
satisfaction. From where he sat on a stone bench in the black shadows
of the trees that arched the Alameda, Miramar, on the