“There are none here but ourselves,” cut in the don. “My family and all the servants have gone to Mexico. I myself was intending to go in the morning, but now I shall not leave Belize until I make that scoundrelly Don Carlos Valdez answer for this rascally work he has done!”
“Don Carlos Valdez?” repeated Carl. “I don’t know der feller. Vat has he done?”
“I will tell you,” answered the don. “Come, let us sit down for a moment. My limbs are not strong yet, and there is much to be done.”
Carl, excited and curious, dropped into a chair. The don, after giving a cautious look outside, closed the door and returned to Carl. Drawing a chair close, he seated himself.
“Tell me,” said he, “do you know of a submarine boat in the harbor called the Grampus? You are American, and the boat is owned by Captain Nemo, junior, an American. You should know of her.”
“Vell, you bed you! Vy, I’m vone of der crew of der Grampus! I come mit her ven she arrifed, und I vas mit her ven she got der American consul avay from der repels in der River Izaral. Vy, Bob Steele, who vas boss of der boat, is my friendt, my pard! Und so is Dick Ferral! Know der Grampus! I know her insite und oudt, oop und down und sitevays! My name is Pretzel, Carl Pretzel.”
Don Ramon Ortega was astounded, but happily so. Reaching out his hand, he clasped Carl’s convulsively.
“Ah, what good fortune!” he murmured; “what amazing luck! Destiny is at work in all this. Fate guided you to me to-night, my young friend!”
“A pulltog hat more to do mit it as fate,” answered Carl simply.