“Unquestionably, senor. You see, Donna Isabelle’s father, Senor de Guzman, was formerly a prisoner of the government, but he fled on a ship, which was never heard of again. It is whispered that he had expressed a wish to his brother, the general, that the estate might pass into the hands of his daughter. But, however that was, the general, as the next of kin, now enjoys it.”
“If only I had that will here,” thought Ned, and then the next instant reconsidered the matter. With things going the way they were, the document was unquestionably better off where it was.
The sound of loud voices came to them as they neared the villa, and through the open windows the boys could see bright uniforms grouped about a table, which was littered with maps and plans.
“Ah, the general is busy, and I dare not disturb him now,” said the young officer, as they entered the villa and emerged into a courtyard, the “patio” common to all Spanish-American houses. It was delightfully cool there after the hot, dusty glare of the camp.
“Well, we will stroll outside a bit and come back later on, old chap,” suggested Stark, glad to see a loophole of escape from the lion’s den into which he was beginning to imagine they had thrust themselves.
“Oh, no, senor,” said the young officer in quite a horrified tone. “The general would wish to see you. He may besides, perhaps, wish to question you concerning affairs in the town and relating to the small American vessel of war.”
“The deuce he will,” thought Stark. “Confounded little in the way of information he’ll get.”
Aloud he said:
“We shall be delighted, old fellow. Anything at all, you know. Delighted, I’m sure.”
“Phew!” whistled Ned in a low tone, “we’ve walked into a mouse-trap with a vengeance, and,” he added to himself as a heavy tread sounded, mingled with the jingling of a sword, “here comes the cat.”