The stone house was now, seemingly, without an occupant and the thickets about were silent save for the noises of the night. A faint clamor came from the canal, where workmen were hewing away at the ribs of the Cordilleras, now the slight jar of an explosion, now the grinding of a steam shovel, now the nervous shrieking of the trains pushing back and forth.
The electrics over the cut drew lines of silver light on the tall trees and the foliage of the hills farther away, but here there was only a faint suggestion of illumination.
“Now you’ve got him,” Jimmie said, presently, “what you goin’ to do with him? We can’t get him to Culebra or Gatun without bumpin’ into some fresh guy who would want to take him away from us.”
“I’m afraid you’re right about that,” Ned said. “We can’t afford to have him get away and inform his companions that something of their plot is known.”
“What would they do?”
“Make new plans, and we should have to begin all over again. As the case rests now we stand a good chance of catching every one of the conspirators.”
“And the chap that stole the emerald necklace?”
“Even the necklace may drift to the surface in the eruption which is sure to take place in the near future,” smiled Ned. “Now about Gaga,” he continued. “Suppose you look around and see if you can’t find a room in the old house which would not be used to-night, even if the plotters should come.”
Jimmie hustled away and soon returned with the information that there was a room in the rear of the house, on the first floor, which would answer for a prison very well.
“But there ain’t no door to it,” he added, “an’ the glass is all out of the window. Looks like it had been deserted for a hundred years.”