"Thank you, but I can't promise for sure," said Walter. "I have some business on the wharf. Will it be all right if I telephone you by seven o'clock?"
"Certainly," exclaimed Alfaro. Curious in his turn, he asked: "Is your office on the wharf?"
"It is under my hat at present," smiled Walter. "Does this Captain Brincker live in Panama?"
"I will ask my friends in the city and tell you all about him at dinner. I think he is a hard customer."
"I have reasons for keeping an eye on him, so I'll be grateful for any information," said Walter.
The Colombian was in haste to keep an engagement, and he left Walter impatiently awaiting the next turn of events. The Juan Lopez moved away from the side of the Chilean steamer and anchored far out in the bay. Shortly thereafter a small boat was sent ashore. It landed near the wharf and Captain Brincker disembarked. He walked in the direction of the railroad station.
A few minutes later, the checker left the gangway and also headed for the station. Walter followed them into a train for Ancon, but they did not sit together, and paid no attention to each other. This was unexpected. When they left the train, the slouchy, ill-favored young man climbed into a cab, while the grizzled soldier of fortune sturdily set out on foot into Panama city.
Walter had fought shy of invading Panamanian territory because of General Quesada and the native police, but he could not bear to quit the chase. He straightway chartered a cab and made the Spanish-speaking cochero understand that he was to follow the chariot aforesaid. The weary, overworked little horses jogged slowly through the picturesque streets of balconied stone houses and mouldering churches and ramparts recalling the storied age of the Conquistadores. Old Panama and the Canal Zone, side by side, vividly contrasted the romantic past and the practical, hustling present.
The cab of the checker passed the plaza with its palms and flowers, and made toward the city water-front. The narrow streets framed bright glimpses of the blue Bay of Panama. At length Walter bade his cochero halt. The slouchy young man whom he was pursuing had dismissed his vehicle and was entering a large weather-worn house of stucco, one of a solid block in a little thoroughfare close to the crumbling sea-wall.
"It is my business to find out who lives there," reflected Walter. "I'm sure that Americans from the Canal Zone are unlikely to have honest errands in this corner of Panama."