Hal looked on, wide-eyed, for he knew well that no such paper had been among his possessions when he packed them.
Then he gave a gasp, for he realized the Spaniard’s game at last. That scoundrel, by some clever legerdemain, had slipped a paper among Maynard’s effects.
“Ho!” grunted the Spaniard, running his eyes over the page. “This is a note, apparently, from one of the comrades of that bandit chief, Gomez.”
He finished reading, while the captain stood looking calmly on.
“An American plotter!” screamed Vasquez. “This is proof conclusive enough to merit for him a dozen deaths if that were possible!”
He held the page in one hand, pointing a denouncing finger at our startled hero.
“Let me see it,” commanded the captain. “A letter relating to a filibustering expedition, eh? This is, indeed, evidence. So!” turning to Maynard. “You are one of the Yankees who help his majesty’s subjects to rebel.”
“Upon my honor,” protested Hal, “I know nothing about that letter.”
“Your honor?” cried the captain. “Bah, you Yankee pig! Lieutenant, bring him along under guard. To the Prefatura.”
To the Prefatura! To Havana’s police headquarters? Over the door of that grim building might well be written, “All hope abandon, ye who enter here!”