“Do you really advise me, Doctor, to run away from a couple of policemen with handcuffs and a warrant? No, no, I shall stay. My conscience is clear. I shall appeal to my own government. You know they can’t go about arresting innocent Americans without getting into trouble.”
Nuñez raised his eyebrows. “And through whom will you appeal? Your American consul?”
“I suppose so.”
“And do you happen to remember the last time you saw Meester B. Wilkins Smith?”
“Oh, thunder!” returned Vickers, “that was the time I dipped him in the San Pedro, for saying I cheated at cards. Well, he richly deserved it, Doctor. No one could deny that.”
“Perhaps not,” returned the doctor, “but I do not think he will break his neck to save you. I think he will write home that it is unfortunate that a better type of Americans do not come down here. I think he will think it right to let our law take its course.”
Vickers had begun to look grave, but at the word law his face brightened. “Ah, there you are,—law!” he cried. “They can not prove anything against me. They will not dare to ventilate their case in court.”
“I do not think they will try,” replied Nuñez gently. “I think they will send you down to a little prison on the island of Santa Maria, while they investigate your case. And I do not think, my dear Don Luis, that you will ever come back from that little island. A lovely spot, a paradise, but not healthy, it seems. It is very far away,—so far that sometimes the jailers forget to come to feed the prisoners for months at a time.”
“Well, in that case,” said Vickers, with a laugh, “I should think the prisoners would not have very much trouble in making their escape.”
“Not the least; they do not have the least, not the least little bit. But the channel is broad there, and the sharks are very hungry, Don Luis.”