“Good heavens, Strong, what have you done?” whispered the midshipman. “What is this will?”
“It is in the possession of Lieutenant Timmons, sir,” retorted Ned, “and may become a powerful instrument in our hands.”
“I hope so, I am sure,” breathed Stark, “but just at present it looks as if it was an instrument to get us into more trouble.”
For an instant General de Guzman seemed puzzled how to act. He toyed with the tassels on the hilt of his sword. A perplexed, worried look played over his features. “Evidently,” thought Ned, “there’s some mystery connected with the will, and in some wonderful way I’ve hit him in a tender spot.”
Suddenly the general spoke. He addressed Charbonde.
“Take these men under a strong escort to Miraflores prison,” he commanded. “I will decide on their fate later.”
Surrounded as they were, there was not the slightest use in making any resistance. Even a show of it might have resulted fatally. Our heroes therefore submitted with the best grace they could to being marched like convicted felons from the headquarters of the insurgent leader.
As they left the place and emerged into the blinding sunlight, which lay scorchingly on the camp, a figure stepped up to them. With a flash of amazement Ned recognized Hank Harkins. The renegade American youth’s face was illumined by a malicious grin as he saw their plight.
“Hullo, there!” he snarled, coming right up close to Ned, “getting a taste of the handcuffs, eh? They’ll shoot you sure as time, and I’ll be there to see.”