“Werry pretty I must say,” spoke up Ben Stubbs, “but a waste of time, ship-mate,—that hole into the treasure cave is filled up by the airthquake and the only way to get at the mines will be in another airship.”
Rogero’s face was a study.
“What, you forestalled me there, too?” he muttered savagely.
“Well I reckon these boys did that,” cheerfully replied Ben, “and thereby saved me from a maroon’s grave.”
Rogero’s rage was frantic when he learned this. He snapped his teeth with impotent fury as he was led off to a cell to await the arrival of extradition papers from New York. It might as well be said here that he never reached there. A few hours after he was placed in the cell he,—through some attendant who was faithful to his wishes to the last, or whom, as was more probable, he had bribed,—obtained a phial of poison. When next his cell was visited by the guard the tempestuous general of the Zelayan forces was finished with his earthly battles and had been dead some time.
The boys’ irons were struck off as soon as a blacksmith could be found in the panic-stricken city, and that evening they sat in the places of honor at a gay banquet given to the officers of the two cruisers by Mr. Chester and the American Consul, at the hotel where their adventures in Nicaragua had begun. While the festivities were at their height a servant hastened in and whispered to Frank that a man wanted to see him outside.
In the hall Frank found a ragged-looking fellow awaiting him who held in his hand a skin-bag.
“You are the Señor Chester?” he asked.
“Yes,” replied Frank.
“Don Alejo he tell me give you dees,” said the figure and abruptly vanished. Inside the bag lay all the ten rubies and with them a short note.