“What will you do with Pitou, captain?” called Bob through his megaphone.
“Turn him over to the government of that country down there to be punished for running off the American consul, and for his many other outrages against peaceable Americans.”
“What do you think the government will do with him?”
“Firing squad at sunrise,” was the laconic response.
“What about Fingal?”
“Our country will take care of him. He’ll make a good cellmate for his brother, Jim Sixty. Sorry you didn’t capture Don Carlos Valdez. The governor at Belize would like to lay hands on him. He made an unprovoked attack on the Spanish consul, and, if caught, would do time for it.”
By that time the launch had got back to the ship’s side, and Bob, bidding the captain of the cruiser a hearty good-by, started the Grampus onward toward Belize.
Speake took the wheel for a while, and the three chums were able to enjoy a quiet little talk together. While they were at it, the door of the prison room opened and Ysabel Sixty stepped out. Carl almost fell off his seat.
“Iss dot a shpook vat I see?” he mumbled, staring at the girl, “oder iss id Miss Sixdy, der peaudiful maiten vat I know so vell?”
“Don’t be foolish, Carl,” Ysabel protested, smiling.