"Exactly," nodded Cortland, "and this wretched little half-price native was one of them. He was brought along on purpose. Probably he was threatened with having his throat cut if he didn't do what he was told by the scoundrels. Then, while some of the natives were passing food and drink through the bars to Tomba and the prisoners, Jones must have had his attention attracted."
"Sergeant Jones remembers that he was called to the guard-house door for an instant," interjected Lieutenant Ray.
"Exactly, Ray, and at the same time a light-fingered native slipped a cunning brown hand into the sergeant's pocket and the key was taken. The cell door was swiftly unlocked, this native stole in, and Vicente Tomba stole out. Friends swiftly slipped Tomba one or two articles of clothing with which to help disguise himself. Then the whole party filed quickly out, and by this time Vicente Tomba is headed for the mountains and going fast."
"But Sergeant Jones found the key in his pocket, sir, when I asked him for it."
"Certainly, Ray. The little brown man who was clever enough to pick the pocket of the sergeant of the guard found it even less trouble to return the key."
"Cerverra didn't get away, anyway," muttered Lieutenant Ray, who had grown suddenly tired and careworn in appearance.
"Undoubtedly that's because Tomba is of more importance to the Moro plotters than Cerverra. Besides, Cerverra owns property here, and he can't well afford to be a fugitive from justice."
"What shall I do with this little wretch of a substitute, sir?" queried the officer of the day.
"Have you questioned this prisoner?"
"Yes, sir, and not a word will he say. He only shakes his head and pretends that he cannot understand a word of English or Spanish."