“You may depend upon it,” said Bob, taking her hand cordially. “I shall never forget this last experience of yours, and how you undertook an exceedingly risky venture solely to be of aid to me.”
There was a gentleman waiting for a word with Bob, and Ysabel, with a glad smile, turned away in the direction of home.
“Señor Bob Steele?” asked the gentleman, who had been waiting for Ysabel to finish her talk with Bob.
“The same, sir,” replied Bob.
“I, my boy, am Don Ramon Ortega, the Spanish consul in Belize. I wish to beg your pardon for the serious misadventures into which you were plunged through the unwarranted use of my name by that unmitigated scoundrel, Don Carlos Valdez.”
“You were not to blame for that, don.”
“Perhaps not, but I feel keenly the trouble which my name—always an honorable one—has caused you. Some time, when my family return from Mexico, I shall hope to see you at my home as an honored guest. Will you come?”
“Certainly, sir, if I am in Belize.”
“I thank you, señor,” said the don; and then, with a courtly bow, he passed on.
Bob hardly knew whether to laugh or look sober; but when he reflected on how the rascally Don Carlos had juggled with the Spanish consul’s name, and used it for base purposes, he felt that perhaps the consul was right in taking the matter so much to heart.