Nick was inclined to flash past. He was in no mood to parley with a customs officer, especially when represented only by a small boy.
But another thought came to him, and he slowed down.
The boy ran to the car and jumped upon the running board, so that his face was level with the detective’s.
“What is it, my boy?” asked Nick, in Spanish.
“There is danger, your highness,” replied the lad, in the same tongue.
“You know me, eh?”
“Ah, yes, your highness,” was the quick response, while the dark eyes flashed with a friendly light. “You are Prince Marcos. My father has said all along that you would be back in time to save your country. We used to live in Joyalita. We love Marcos.”
“What is the danger you speak of?”
“Troops in the pass, your highness.”
“Troops in the pass, eh? How many? Where did they come from?”