Then the captain grabbed the trumpet out of Carl’s hands to do a little talking that amounted to something.
“We’ve started for the Izaral River to look for you,” called the captain.
“How did you know where we had gone?” asked Bob.
“Don Ramon Ortega furnished the clew to the American consul at Belize.”
“Where did Don Ramon get the clew?”
“Your Dutch pard helped—but he’ll tell you about that later. What’s the matter with your periscope?”
“Bombarded by revolutionists.”
“Great Scott! Where?”
“Off Port Livingstone.”
“If those fellows to the south don’t capture that little scoundrel, Pitou, before long, some of the bigger nations ought to interfere.”