“And does any part of it refer to Porto Cabello?”
After a moment of consideration Inez nodded. “The third chapter,” she said, “tells of the invasion by Sir Francis Drake.”
“‘Chapter three, page fifty-four, paragraph four!’” shouted Roddy. “I’ll bet my head on it! Don’t you see what he has done?” he cried. “He sent you the key before he sent you the cipher. The verbal message is the key to the written one. They gave him a chance to send word to your mother, and he took it. He told her he was dying only that he might give her a direction, apparently about an epitaph, a boastful epitaph. He never boasted while he was alive—why should he boast on his tombstone? His real message is this: ‘Look in the history I wrote of Venezuela, on page fifty-four, paragraph four,’ and when we have found it,” cried Roddy, “we’ll have found the way to get him out of prison!”
Inez was not convinced, but his enthusiasm was most inspiriting.
“We have the history at the house,” she cried, “and I know you can find it in the Spanish bookstore in Willemstad. I must go at once.”
She moved forward, greatly excited, her eyes lit with the happiness of this new hope. Roddy ran to bring her pony, and making a bridge of his hands lifted her to the saddle. “If I am right about this,” he said, “I must see you again to-day. Where can I meet you?”
In spite of her eagerness, the girl hesitated. One by one the traditions of a lifetime were smashing about her.
“I must tell my mother,” she pleaded. “And I know she will not allow me——”
“And she’ll tell Pino,” interrupted Roddy. To detain her, he laid his hand upon the reins and shook them sharply.
“Are you helping Pino to win a revolution,” he demanded, “or are you helping me to get your father out of prison?”