rning to send to the captain of the port,
to the commandant, to the prison doctor, to every citizen who objected
to having his sleep punctuated, a basket of eels. It was noticed that
at intervals the engine of the launch would not act properly, and the
gringos were seen propelling the boat with oars. Also, the light
often went out, leaving them in darkness. They spoke freely of these
accidents with bitter annoyance, and people sympathized with them.

One night, when they were seated plotting in the _patio_, Roddy was
overwhelmed with sudden misgivings.

"Wouldn't it be awful," he cried, "if, after we have cut the bars and
shown him the rope ladder and the launch, he refuses to come with us!"

"Is that _all_ that's worrying you?" asked Peter.

"How is he to know?" persisted Roddy, "that we are not paid by
Alvarez, that we aren't leading him on to escape so that the sentries
can have an excuse to shoot him. That has been done before. It is an
old trick, like killing a man in his cell and giving out that he
committed suicide. The first thing Rojas will ask us is, who sends us,
and where are our credentials."

"I guess he will take his chance," said Peter. "He'll see we are not
Venezuelans."

"That is the very thing that will make him refuse," protested Roddy.
"Why should he trust himself to strangers--to gringos? No, I tell you,
we can't go on without credentials." He lowered his voice and glanced
suspiciously into the dark corners of the _patio_. "And the only
people who can give them to us," he added, tapping impressively upon
the table, "live in Curacao."

With sudden enthusiasm Peter de Peyster sat upright.

"I am on in that scene," he protested.

"I thought of it first," said Roddy.

"We will toss," compromised Peter. "The head of Bolivar, you go. The
arms of Venezuela, I go, and you stay here and catch eels."

The silver peso rang upon the table, and Roddy exclaimed jubilantly:

"Heads! I go!" he cried. But the effort of Peter to show he was not
disappointed was so unconvincing that Roddy instantly relented.

"We had better both go!" he amended. "Your headwork is better than
mine, so you come, too. And if you give me the right signals, I'll try
to put the ball where you can reach it."

As though in his eagerness he would set forth on the instant, Roddy
sprang to his feet and stood smiling down at Peter, his face lit with
pleasurable excitement. Then suddenly his expression grew thoughtful.

"Peter,"