"The American!" he exclaimed.
"English," said Grahame calmly. "The difference is, no doubt, not important."
The man looked hard at him, and Grahame carelessly dropped his hand upon his pistol.
"I am going to the fonda; if you are going that way, I would rather you walked in front. One is careful at night, my friend."
Though the fellow had a sinister look, he smiled and went off with an apology, and Grahame, going on to the hotel, waited outside until Walthew came up. The boy looked hot and breathless, but Grahame noticed that he had a flower in his hand.
"I've been followed," Walthew laughed. "The fellows dropped back soon after I came into the moonlight. Guess they saw they were after the wrong man."
"Very possibly. It happened to me. I wonder whether Castillo got away?"
They listened, but the town was quiet. One or two citizens crossed the plaza, but no sound that indicated anything unusual going on rose from the shadowy streets.
"It seems likely," Walthew replied. "I don't think they could have arrested him without some disturbance. Why didn't they search Sarmiento's house?"
"Perhaps they were afraid of starting a riot that would spread. The President seems to be a capable man, and Don Martin obviously enjoys the confidence of the citizens. On the whole, I think he deserves it."