“Food,” said the girl curtly. “Eat it, if you want to. I’m not hungry.”
She was in a temper because Bob and Dick would not hurry away to the submarine. She could not understand why they should delay their flight when it was manifestly impossible for them to be of any help to their captured friends. As if to further emphasize her displeasure, she turned her back on the boys.
Dick stared at her, and then swerved an amused glance upon his chum.
“Didn’t Pedro give you a note, Ysabel?” asked Bob gently.
“Yes. It was from Coleman. He managed to write it and give it to Pedro for me. It is mine.”
“Suppose you read it? Perhaps there is something in it that is important.”
Ysabel partly turned and threw the note on the ground at Bob’s feet.
“You can read it,” she said.
Bob picked up the scrap and opened it out. It was written in lead pencil, on the back of an old envelope, and read as follows:
“I hope you can get away some time to-day in that pitpan Pedro was telling you about. If you can do that, you can help all the prisoners now in General Pitou’s hands. Some time soon we are to be taken down the Izaral halfway to Port Livingstone, where the rebels have another camp which they consider safer than this one. We will all go in the gasoline launch which was stolen, early this morning, by Fingal and Cassidy. Tell this to the customs officer at Port Livingstone, and ask him to do his best to intercept the launch and help us. I cannot write more—I have not time.”