"It would be wise not to say too much," whispered Adrian. "I see that officer in the end of the car has his eye on you. He may speak English."
"I don't care who hears me," said the florid man angrily. "I mean it."
At the same moment a guard who had approached from the other end of the car laid his hand upon the angry man's shoulder.
"If the Señor is not satisfied," he said, "we shall be pleased to send him back to the City of Mexico."
"Oh, no-no-no," was the stammering reply. "I am very well satisfied. All I want is to get out of the country."
"Let us hope there will be no trouble about that," was the polite response, and the florid man lapsed into silence.
Ordinarily it is a pleasant day's journey from the City of Mexico to the seaport city of Vera Cruz; or if one prefers he may make a night ride of it in times of peace. The train which left the City of Mexico that April morning made no such time. After a tiresome all-day ride with numerous aggravating stops, when darkness fell they were still on the plateau of Mexico, some miles west of Orizaba, running slowly for fear some stray bunch of Carranzistas or Zapatistas might have torn up a length or two of track.
It was possibly an hour later that the engine gave a furious jerk, followed by a bump and another jerk, and then the train came to a dead stop.
In a minute everybody was on his feet asking everybody else what had happened. As no one knew, there was a general movement for the doors, as it was too dark to see much from the windows.
"Sit down, everybody," ordered the guard. "There is no danger, but we have stopped on a high trestle."