"Miss Ysabel Sixty?" the other again interrupted, even more eagerly than he had done before.
"Yah, so!" beamed Carl. "You know der laty?"
"Indeed, yes. But she does not live in the next house, señor. An English captain lives there—an officer in charge of the constabulary. Miss Sixty is staying with friends a block farther down the street, and around the corner."
"Vell, I t'ought I hat made some misdakes," said Carl, vastly relieved. "A parrel oof vater vas tropped on me, und I vas run off mit a pulltog, und—und—— Blease, haf you some clot' patches und some neetles und t'read? I vouldt like to be respectaple vonce more."
The man got to his feet slowly and then, his eyes gleaming ominously, caught Carl's arm in both hands.
"Let us not think so much of ourselves now, señor," he said thickly, "but of others!"
"Vat aboudt id?" inquired Carl, wondering whether the released gentleman was crazy or excited.
"I am Don Ramon Ortega," answered the man.
This was another surprise. Carl had heard of Don Ramon Ortega. He was the Spanish consul in Belize, a man of high lineage and of much importance.
"How keveer dot I shouldt come py your house like vat I dit, Ton Ramon!" muttered Carl. "I hope," he added, in a tremor, "dot der laties von't come——"