This he kissed with a simple, unaffected air of devotion.
“By Jove, I’ll trust you,” murmured Hal. “I’ve yet to meet a Cuban thief!”
R-rip! In a second he began to unbutton his clothing, bringing out to view from under his shirt a long, thin bag.
“This contains two thousand dollars,” he whispered.
“And if anything happens to you, to whom does the money belong?”
“Henry Richardson, at Key West.”
“He shall have it,” promised the Cuban. “Hush! There are steps on the stairs.”
Like a flash, Ramirez vanished.
“Have I been duped?” wondered Hal, with a quick thrill of apprehension.
Ramirez had looked like a fellow to be trusted. Yet, if Hal had kept the money about him, it would soon pass into the hands of Vasquez, who would be able to persuade the Spanish judges that his claim was just.