“It is plain sense, señor. Cuba was misgoverned by Spain——”
“Treason!” roared Gonzalez, once more, and his companions echoed the cry.
There was a commotion in the café. Men sprang up in their seats, their eyes blazing. The stranger was quickly surrounded by an excited crowd.
“By Jove!” muttered Frank. “That fellow has placed himself in an awkward position. I cannot understand this. Is it a part of the trick to get at me?”
He was keenly on the alert, but Gonzalez and his companions seemed to have forgotten the American lads. They were packed about the daring stranger, whom they cursed in a way that told they longed to strangle him. One of them demanded the stranger’s name, but this he declined to give, rising to his feet and drawing his cloak about him. Then he attempted to leave the café. A hand darted out and grasped the stranger’s whiskers, and, in a twinkling, they were jerked from the man’s face.
The beard was false!
A cry of satisfaction and triumph broke from the lips of the man who had snatched the beard away.
“Esparto!” he shouted. “I knew it was he!”
The fierce crowd fell back a bit before the man who had so suddenly lost his disguise.
“Esparto, the Valencian!” they exclaimed.