"Tie them!" Montoya snapped.
A cord from the Venetian blinds was the most convenient tie material. Scotty cut it loose with a sweep of his scout knife and slashed it into two pieces. While Montoya held his pistol on the guards the boys tied their arms behind them, lashing their elbows together.
"Now," the police captain said, "let us find my uncle."
The stairs led up from the hallway. Montoya took them two at a time, the boys close behind. At the top of the stairs, the officer called in Spanish. There was an answer from a room on the left.
The door was locked, but the key was hanging from a hook on the wall. In a moment the two Montoyas were greeting each other with a warm embrace, and then with a more formal handshake.
The governor greeted the two Spindrifters with a bow and a handshake, and then inquired, "What good providence brought you here, nephew mine?"
"We knew you were here," Montoya said, "because there was no other place where Guevara could have hid you."
"Let's discuss it later," Rick urged. "Those guards out back will be coming to, and we want to be out of here."
"You are right," Montoya agreed instantly. "We are not yet in the clear, señor uncle. We must hurry."
"Into the jungle," Scotty said. "Once in the brush and we're okay. They'll never catch us then."