Captain Blynn returned to his desk and drew out a bundle of papers from a locked drawer. He glanced over them hurriedly. Every word was familiar to him. Could he have made a mistake? Every witness whom he had examined had given the same information. These natives had not been coerced; they had come to him of their own volition. Espinosa had vouched for each. Then he stopped, the papers fell from his hand to the desk. No! it could not be possible! Espinosa was surely loyal. That much was sure. For the space of a minute he was lost in thought. “I shall test him,” he muttered, while he pressed a bell at his side.
“Tell Señor Espinosa over the telephone that I shall call on him in an hour on important business,” he instructed the orderly who answered his summons.
An hour later Captain Blynn mounted the high stairs of the wealthy Filipino’s dwelling.
“Buenos Dias, El Capitan,” Señor Manuel Espinosa cried delightedly as he pushed a chair forward for his visitor. But the smile died quickly on the native’s face as Captain Blynn waved away the chair impatiently, almost rudely, and in his typical way jumped into the very midst of the matter in hand.
“Señor,” he exclaimed angrily, “I’ve been betrayed! Do you understand?” he cried menacingly, his flashing eyes fixed on the crafty face opposite him, while he shook his big, strong fist before the eyes of the startled Presidente of Palilo. “Betrayed, that’s the word, and if I can lay my hand on the hound, I’ll swing him to the eaves of his own house-top.”
Señor Espinosa was silent, his crafty, bead-like eyes regarding closely the angry, excited face of the judge-advocate.
“Captain Gordon went on a wild-goose chase, and when he returned he found the insurgents had been in San Juan in his absence. Ten soldiers, American men, were caught, trapped, and butchered. The natives who brought me the information were vouched for by you and now you’ve got to prove to me that you’re not a sneaking traitor!”
The captain’s words tumbled one after another so fast that the little Filipino could grasp only half their meaning, but the last could not be misunderstood. His brown face turned a sickly yellow, while his frightened eyes sought instinctively for some weapon of defense from this terrible American, who was strong enough to tear his frail body limb from limb.
“Ah, señor capitan, is this your much-boasted American justice?” he gasped in a weak voice. “Am I then judged guilty without hearing my defense?” His voice became stronger as he proceeded. “Let us look over this calmly,” he begged. “I, myself, have been betrayed. In embracing the American cause, I have made many enemies among my people. I live constantly in fear of assassination.” He stopped abruptly, his voice choking and his eyes filled with tears of self-pity.
Captain Blynn had dealt with many different classes of men in his twenty odd years of service. He had been a terror to the ruffians on the Western frontier where he had been stationed during the several Indian wars. The “bad men” had said when they had found Blynn against them, “We might as well own up—we can’t fool Blynn.”