"Well, what can I do?" asked the officer in charge of the party. "These fellows aren't our prisoners. I can't take them away from the civil authority."
Peter turned to the non-commissioned officer of the Rioguayan police. The man stated that his orders were to take the prisoners to the town gaol for the night. They would be tried and shot before noon to-morrow, he added inconsequently.
"It's murder," declared Peter, conferring with the lieutenant of the landing-party. "Look here, can you detail half a dozen men? I'll take all responsibility and get the prisoners on board. After all's said and done, they aren't criminals, merely political prisoners."
"Get on with it then," was the reply, "and jolly good luck. Only, remember, I can't make these opera bouffe policemen give up their prisoners."
"I'll try, anyway," rejoined Peter.
Producing a buff-coloured paper with the Admiralty crest, Peter held it in front of the Rioguayan caporal.
"Here is your new President's authority that all political suspects under arrest are to be placed in British custody," he said brazenly.
The Rioguayan couldn't read. If he did and was able to understand English, he would have seen that the document was a receipted mess account. But it served its purpose.
"Sí, señor capitan," he replied, with a salute.
Ten minutes later, Don Ramon and his companions in misfortune were seated in the stern-sheets of the Rebound's picket-boat. He was only too glad to enjoy the security afforded by the British navy that he had oft-times derided.