Finally, the thin man inquired in a different and much softer voice:
“What are you doing in Puerto Frio?”
“It has nothing to do with revenge or punishment,” replied Saxon, “and I don’t want to hear intrigues.”
A quarter of an hour later, they reached the main plaza, Rodman still mystified and Saxon walking on aimlessly at his side. He had no definite destination. Nothing mattered. After a long silence, Rodman demanded:
“Aren’t you taking a chance—risking it in Puerto Frio?”
“I don’t know.”
There was another pause, broken at last by Rodman:
“Take this from me. Get at once in touch with the American legation, and keep in touch! Stand on your good behavior. You may get away with it.” He interrupted himself abruptly with the question: “Have you been keeping posted on South American affairs of late?”
“I don’t know who is President,” replied Saxon.
“Well, I’ll tip you off. The only men who held any direct proof about—about the $200,000 in gold that left about the same time you did”—Saxon winced—“went into oblivion with the last revolution. Time is a great restorer, and so many similar affairs have intervened that you are probably forgotten. But, if I were you, I would get through my affairs early and—beat it. It’s a wise boy that is not where he is, when he’s wanted by some one he doesn’t want.”