"Same here," added Ike.
"But you have no right to take me away like this," declared the youth, with more spirit. "It is infamous! It is wrong! And when the police hear of it you will suffer."
"We don't care a fig for the police of Cuba!" declared Ike. "We walked away, right under their very noses, with you, and all they did was to rush about, waving their swords and firing their revolvers in the air, like a lot of kids at a Fourth of July celebration. Police! Huh! We don't worry about them!"
"But what do you want with me?" persisted the lad.
"Haven't I told you that your Uncle Ezra Larabee wants to have a talk with you," said Sam. "He's afraid you're wasting your money, and he wants to sort of supervise it. He claims he has that right, being your mother's brother, as long as your father won't do it."
"You are pleased to speak in riddles, senor," remarked the youth with dignity. "I repeat that I have no Uncle Ezra Larabee. That is no Cuban name. Also, my mother, who is among the saints, she had no brother. Likewise I am not rich—I wish I was. I am only Pedro Alantrez, as I have said."
"Now, don't waste any more words talking like that," suggested Sam Newton. "Do you mean to say you're not Dick Hamilton, the millionaire?"
"Certainly not, senor," declared the youth, with dignity. Just then the carriage approached one of the few street lights. The two men peered forward, and looked full in the face of their captive.
"Well, that's pretty good!" announced Sam. "Take a close look at him, Ike. Isn't he Dick Hamilton?"
"He sure is," was the firm response of Ike Murdock. "I've seen him too often lately, and at close quarters, to be mistaken. But here we are on the pier. I hope Guy and Simon are waiting with the boat, and we'll soon be away from this half-civilized country."