“Just that!” affirmed Hal.
“The officers have a pretense, but Vasquez will really seek your money. If you have it not with you, or know a safe hiding place, you will fool him, but if the money is in your possession, it will surely be taken from you.”
Hal hesitated, regarding the speaker with a look full of penetration.
What he saw was the frank, pleasing face of a youth of eighteen. Somehow, Hal’s heart went out to the stranger.
“If,” said the other, “you have the money, and wish to save it, you can trust it with me, senor.”
“What could you do with it?” projected Hal.
“Drop it into one of my pockets,” added the other, adding with a laugh:
“No one would search such a thin, ragged Cuban as I for the possession of so much money. But think quickly, senor, for Vasquez will be here in another moment. Juan Ramirez is my name.”
“A Cuban?” asked Hal.
“See!” And Juan drew from a pocket what could easily become his death-warrant—a small Cuban flag.