“Until American sailors and soldiers purify that loathsome place by planting the American flag over it.”
“Fool!” hissed Vasquez. “Do you imagine you will ever reach Morro?”
“I know only what that official said.”
“Well, then, let me tell you,” snarled the Spaniard, “that you will only embark in a boat that will start across the harbor. By and by that boat will return without you, but you will never have reached Morro! You will never be heard from again!”
“And it is for this you have plotted?” cried Hal, paling, but otherwise keeping his composure.
“If I have plotted,” murmured Vasquez, rapidly, “it was for my own good. You would not expect me to serve another than myself, would you?”
“No!” came the answer, with withering sarcasm.
“Now, my young friend,” went on the plotter, dropping into a cooing voice, “if I am a dangerous enemy, let us forget that. I am also a good friend. Your employer owed me the money which you collected. Put me in the way of finding that, and I have influence enough here to secure your freedom.”
“Now, listen to me,” retorted Hal, spiritedly. “Whether my employer owes you the money or not is nothing for me to decide. But I will tell you this honestly: I don’t know where the money is, at this moment. If I wanted to play into your hands, I simply couldn’t.”
“You are lying!” gnashed Vasquez, but a searching look into the boy’s face soon convinced that shrewd judge of human nature that Maynard spoke the truth.