Weeks snorted indignantly. "He gave you that fairy tale, eh? He said his name was Anthony and his father was a railroad president, didn't he? Well, he imposed on me, too, but his name is Locke, and, as near as I can learn, he practically stowed away on the SANTA CRUZ."
"Ah-h!" The officer's eyes widened as he turned them upon his prisoner.
"He is then a w'at you call tramp."
"All I know is, he stuck me for a lot of bills. I'll have to see that he gets fair treatment, I suppose, because he's an American, but that ends my duty."
"Is this the best you'll do for me?" Kirk inquired, as Weeks made ready to go.
"Yes."
"Will you tell some of the men at the Wayfarers that I'm here?"
"Oh, that won't do any good. You're in for it, Locke, so don't holler.
I'll be on hand at your hearing."
"Will you cable my father?"
"At twenty-five cents a word? Hardly!" The speaker mopped his face, exclaiming: "There's no use of talking, I've got to get out in the air; it's too hot in here for me." Then he waddled out ahead of Senor Alfarez, who slammed the door behind him as he followed to escort his caller to the street.
But a half-hour later the commandant returned to the cell, and this time he brought with him a number of his little policemen, each armed with a club. Feeling some menace in their coming, Kirk, who had seated himself dejectedly, arose to ask: "What's coming off?"