Marcos shot a look of indignant anger at the slick-haired man that made him seem to crumple up, as he said sternly:
“Jason, if ever I get you back in Joyalita, you shall pay for this in a way you deserve. I ought to have taken notice of the warning I had before we left home that you were not to be trusted.”
“That’s all right!” snarled Jason. “I was as much to be trusted as any one, I suppose. There’s Prince Miguel! He’s your cousin, and he’s going to take your place as head of the country when he gets back. Why don’t you talk to him. He’s——”
Jason might have said more, for he seemed to be getting more spiteful as he proceeded. But Miguel suddenly jumped from his chair, and, with a stifled oath, sent his fist crashing against Jason’s temple.
The rascal fell to the floor without a groan. He did not move afterward.
“Now, Marcos! What do you say?” asked Miguel coolly, as he took his chair again, without even a glance at the prostrate Jason.
“What do I say?” repeated Marcos. “What do I say? Why, I say that you are a more contemptible scoundrel than that poor devil you have just knocked down, and that I shall yet have the pleasure of putting you in the government prison of Joyalita for treason and abduction.”
“That’s enough!” sneered Miguel. “Go on, Solado!”
Solado rapped with his knuckles on the table before him.
As if he had touched a spring, Larry Dugan, Pet Carlin, and Foxey Irwin dashed into the room from a doorway hidden from Nick Carter by a screen, and pulled Marcos off his feet before he saw that anybody was behind him.