For Clif knew the man, and would secure him the instant he saw him; his crimes were many—treason and attempted assassination the worst.
For the man was Ignacio!
And his dark, beady eyes were glittering with hatred as he crouched in his momentary hiding-place. He was quivering all over with rage; the muscles of his sinewy arms were clinched and tense.
And in his right hand he clutched a sharp, gleaming knife, half hidden under his coat.
His glance was fixed on the figure just in front of him; the unsuspecting cadet was not twenty yards away, his back turned to his crouching enemy.
And Ignacio bent forward to listen and wait his chance.
The cadet, the object of his hatred, was talking to the captain.
"The senor takes possession," the latter repeated again.
"The senor does, with your permission," said Clif, quietly.
"You gave us quite a run," he added, after a moment's thought.