"The way I get it," he mused, "Father's on the trail of some plot against the United States. This plot is breaking loose, here, in Haiti. This Manuel Polliovo's in it, and so is a negro General, Cesar Leborge. There's a third, but the papers don't say who he is.
"Now," he went on, "I've two things to do. I've got to find Father and I've got to find out this plot. Which comes first?"
He rolled over and consulted one or two of the papers.
"Looks like something big," he muttered, kicking his heels meditatively. "I wonder what Father would say I ought to do?"
At the thought, he whirled over and up into a sitting posture.
"If it's dangerous to the U. S.," he said, "that's got to come first. And I don't worry about Father. He can get out of any fix without me."
The glow of his deep-hearted patriotism began to burn in the boy's eyes. He sat rigid, his whole body concentrated in thought.
"If Manuel Polliovo has captured Father," he said aloud, at last, "it must have been because Father was shadowing him. That means that Manuel doesn't want to be shadowed. That means I've got to shadow him. But how?"
The problem was not an easy one. It was obvious that Stuart could not sleuth this Cuban, Manuel, without an instant guess being made of his identity, for white boys were rare in Haiti. If only he were not white. If only——
Stuart thumped on the ground in his excitement.