"Yes," said Don Fernandez, violently. "That miserable Obregon." And he proceeded to relate his version of Jack's arrival.
"Oh, but you are mistaken," said Mr. Hampton, coolly. "That was no assassin, but my son. He came to attempt to rescue me."
Don Fernandez leaped to his feet, as if shot upward by a spring.
"Your son?" he cried. "Came to rescue you? Preposterous. Then, why are you here?"
"Because," said Jack, stepping from hiding, with revolver leveled, "I wanted to meet you."
"Yes, and so did I," said Bob, not to be outdone, as he emerged, also with leveled weapon, from the other side of the four-poster.
Mr. Hampton quickly slipped the key into the lock of the door, turned it and drew back. Don Fernandez saw the action. He glared from one to the other of the three, and then sat down with a resigned shrug of the shoulders.
"You wanted to meet me?" he said. "I am honored. But, Mr. Hampton, there is not only one son but two!"
"Not exactly," said the American. "This lad"—laying a hand on Jack's shoulder—"is my son, the young man you pursued for a time tonight. This other"—placing his other hand on Bob's shoulder—"is my son's chum."
"Well," said Don Fernandez, the faintest suggestion of a twinkle in his eye, "now that you have met me, as you desired, what have you to say?"