“Senor Charbonde. You met him, did you not?”
“Oh, yes, yes. Charming chap, very. Delighted to make his acquaintance, upon my honor.”
“I am glad you like him, senor, for he is here now, and you will be able to renew your acquaintance.”
Had somebody stepped into the courtyard and offered him a commission as admiral of the Atlantic squadron, Ned could not have felt more dumfounded. Of course, from what they had learned from the peons on the captured launch the night before, they knew that Charbonde was in the country, but that he was so near at hand was a positive bombshell.
The blankest of blank looks passed between the Dreadnought Boys and Stanley.
“Stand by for trouble now,” whispered Stanley to Ned.
“The jig is up,” was Herc’s contribution.
Ned, true to his promise, had placed the midshipman in possession of the facts connected with their knowledge of the insurgent agent, so that the general’s words were fully as disquieting to him as to the others. Although there was no possibility of General de Guzman’s knowing the cause of their evident perturbation, he evidently noted it, for a malicious smile curled his lips. He suddenly turned, as some footsteps sounded behind him, and a tall figure, escorting a young woman in a riding habit, appeared.
“Ah, Senor Charbonde,” greeted the general, “some friends of yours are here.”
“Friends of mine, sir?” exclaimed Charbonde in an astonished tone. He dropped the young woman’s arm and came forward.