“If Ramirez has stolen it,” quivered Hal, “all I can say is that I’d sooner see him get it than Vasquez.”
Tramp! tramp! tramp! Reaching the head of the stairs, the soldiers were now marching straight for his door.
Whack! thump! The door was thrown unceremoniously open, and the uniforms of Spain filled the room.
CHAPTER III.
“SPANISH EVIDENCE.”
“This is the young man?”
One of the two officers who appeared at the head of a file of a dozen soldiers turned and put the question to Senor Vasquez.
That consummate liar responded by a nod of the head.
Though Hal Maynard had not studied his attitude, he stood at that moment a typical young American.
With feet rather spread, his hands thrust into his trousers pockets, shoulders manfully back and head inclining slightly forward, he ignored Vasquez, but regarded the officers with a rather indolent look in which there was just a trace of curiosity.
“A visitation, I presume?” he said, addressing one of the officers in Spanish.