They walked up the water front, examining each wharf as they passed.
“There she is, Syd,” cried Phil, grasping his friend’s arm and pointing to a good-sized black launch tied up to a long dock running out into the bay.
“Careful,” Sydney cautioned; “don’t destroy our usefulness by being too much interested. There may be unfriendly eyes looking at us this very minute. Let’s stroll down and see what she is doing there.”
The boys sauntered down the wharf. They saw that the boxes had been removed from the launch.
“Those boxes are inside that warehouse,” announced Sydney, indicating a door abreast the launch. The warehouse was a long one, built on the jutting dock.
“La Fitte and Company,” murmured Phil, reading the name in large gilt letters over the door of the warehouse. “Where have I heard of that firm?”
“Why, that’s the firm,” cried Sydney, surprisedly, “that has been trying to get the concession of the Pitch Lakes away from the American Syndicate. I begin to see a reason for Juarez’s intrigue.”
“I don’t understand,” returned Phil, who had not followed Sydney’s thoughts.
“It’s perfectly clear,” said Sydney, convincedly. “La Fitte and Company are composed of foreigners, mostly Frenchmen; they have engaged Juarez to do the work of prejudicing the insurgents against Americans. If this rascal succeeds and the insurgents gain the reins of government, the concession will be taken from the American Syndicate and given to La Fitte and Company. This concession right is a very valuable one, worth many millions of dollars a year to those who are lucky enough to obtain it.”
“Syd, you are a wonder,” cried Phil, admiringly. “Come, we have no more business here.”