tand
by him and see fair play, there was certainly no need for him to further
complicate matters by calling upon Don Ramon or any of the other people
whose acquaintance he had made during his short stay in the island--and
all of whom were, moreover, friends of Don Hermoso; while, of course,
the British Consul was quite impossible. He therefore accepted the
proffered card, which bore the inscription:

"Lorenzo de Albareda, Colonel."

"5th (Madrid) Cuirassiers."

and handed over one of his own in return.

"I accept your generous offer, Colonel, with the utmost pleasure," he
said, "and will leave myself entirely in your hands. I am at present
living on board my yacht _Thetis_, which lies in the harbour, and I will
arrange that my steamboat shall be in waiting for you at the custom-
house steps to convey you on board, where you will find me when you
shall have completed your arrangements. And now, Senor, I must leave
you. _Adios_, until we meet again!"

And therewith, bowing first to his new friend, the Colonel, and then to
the company at large, many of whom clapped their hands approvingly, Jack
passed out of the restaurant, and made his way to Don Ramon Bergera's
house, to tell him what he had learned.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

JACK GROWS DESPERATE.

By a lucky chance it happened that Don Ramon was at home when Jack
reached the house, and the young man was accordingly conducted to the
room in which his Spanish friend usually transacted his business.

At sight of his visitor Don Ramon flung down his pen and grasped Jack by
the hand.

"Well," he exclaimed, "what is it? You have picked up some news at
last, I can see; and it is bad news, I fear, by the look of you. Or is
it that you are ill? Por Dios, man, you look as though you might be
dying! Here, sit down, and let me ring for some cognac."

"No, no," said Jack, "I need no cognac, or anything else, thanks; but I
have just gained some news of our poor friends, and bad news it is, as
you shall hear." And thereupon he related all that had passed at the
restaurant, repeating Alvaros' words as nearly verbatim as he could
remember them.

"Oh, the despicable villain, the atrocious scoundrel!" exclaimed Don
Ramon, when Singleton had come to the end of his narrative. "But do you
really believe that the part of his story relating to the Senorita
Isolda is true? May it not be that it is merely the empty boast of an
inordinately vain man? There are individual