"Caruso can't touch them. Where can we find a time-table, I wonder?"
Meanwhile, in a corner of the plaza, Manuel Gonzale spoke sad words in the ear of Martin Wall.
"It's the jinx," moaned Wall with conviction. "The star player in everything I do down here. I'm going to burn the sand hot-footing it away. But whither, Manuel, whither?"
"In Porto Rico," replied Gonzale, "I have not yet plied my trade. I go there."
"Palm Beach," sighed Wall, "has diamonds that can be observed to sparkle as far away as the New York society columns. But alas, I lack the wherewithal to support me in the style to which my victims are accustomed."
"Try Porto Rico," suggested Gonzale. "The air is mild—so are the police. I will stake you."
"Thanks. Porto Rico it is. How the devil do we get there?"
Up the main avenue of San Marco Spencer Meyrick walked as a man going to avenge. With every determined step his face grew redder, his eye more dangerous. He looked at his watch. Eleven.
The eleventh hour! But much might happen between the eleventh hour and high noon!