O’Neil led them into the room, drawing the curtain, then detailed his experiences of the night before.
“Captain Garcia is the one who got him,” he ended unselfishly. “If it had not been for him and the ‘Aquadores,’ Craig would have gotten away sure.”
“Captain Garcia has put me as much in his debt as he claimed he was in ours,” exclaimed Phil gladly. “Where is he? I hope we’ll have a chance to thank him before we sail.”
“That you will, sir,” O’Neil returned. “He said he’d go direct to General Barras, so that Mareno could be nabbed, and then he’d come aboard here to say good-bye; he knows we sail at noon.”
Sydney and O’Neil went about their routine work on shipboard, but Phil remained in his room. His empty sword rack, however, gave him no twinges of regret. For the first time in two days he felt at peace with the world. The illness of Craig, the man whose testimony had stood between him and dismissal, concerned him. He resolved to stand by him and see that he received the best of care.
Phil had been alone with his thoughts for nearly an hour when he heard a bugle call ring out sharply on the deck above him, followed by hoarse commands.
Putting his head out of his air port, he saw the sailors on the battle-ships manning the rail, their guards and bands falling in on their quarter-decks. He knew the import of this formation at once: the president of Verazala was on his way to visit the admiral.
Sydney came rushing in for his sword, giving the news which Phil had already surmised.
“If Captain Garcia comes with him,” Phil pleaded, “don’t let him go without seeing me. Tell him I am still a prisoner.”
Sydney declared he would see to that as he buckled on his sword and made for his station.