VIII The silence that greeted the announcement of Inez, was broken in a startling fashion. Before her mother could recover from her amazement² one of the windows to the garden was thrown open, and a man burst through it and sprang toward Vega. He was disheveled, breathless; from a wound in his forehead a line of blood ran down his cheek. His appearance was so alarming that all of those who, the instant before, had been staring in astonishment³ at Inez now turned to the intruder. They recognized him as the personal servant of Vega. Without considering the presence of the others, the valet spoke⁴ as he crossed the room.
 
“The police are in your house,” he panted. “They have searched it; taken the papers. They tried to stop me.” He drew his hand across his face and showed it streaked⁵ with blood. “But I escaped by the harbor. The boat is at the wharf⁶. You have not a moment!” His eyes wandered toward Pulido and Ramon, and he exclaimed delightedly,[Pg 271] “You also!” he cried; “there is still time!”
 
General Pulido ran to the window.
 
“There is still time!” he echoed. “By the boat we can reach Quinta Tortola at the appointed hour. Colonel Ramon,” he commanded, “remain with Señor Caldwell. You, Pino, come with me!”
 
But Vega strode furiously toward Roddy.
 
“No!” he shouted. “This man first! My honor first!”
 
At this crisis of his fortunes, Sam Caldwell, much to the surprise of Roddy, showed himself capable of abrupt⁸ action. He threw his arm around the waist of Vega, and ran him to the window.
 
“Damn your honor!” he shrieked⁹. “You take your orders from me! Go to the meeting-place!”
 
Struggling, not only in the arms of Caldwell but in those of Pulido and the valet, Vega was borne to the terrace. As he was pushed from the window he stretched out his arm toward Roddy.
 
“When we meet again,” he cried, “I kill you!”
 
Roddy looked after him with regret. More alarming to him than the prospect¹⁰ of a duel¹¹ was the prospect of facing Señora Rojas. For the moment Vega and his personal danger had averted¹² the wrath¹³ that Roddy knew was still to come, but with the departure of Vega he saw it could no [Pg 272]longer be postponed¹⁴. He turned humbly¹⁵ to Señora Rojas. The scene through which that lady had just passed had left her trembling; but the sight of Roddy confronting her seemed at once to restore her self-possession. Anxiously, but in a tone of deep respect, Roddy addressed her:
 
“I have the great honor,” he said, “to inform——”
 
After one indignant glance Señora Rojas turned from him to her daughter. Her words sounded like the dripping of icicles.
 
“You will leave the room,” she said. She again glanced at Roddy. “You will leave the house.”
 
Not since when, as a child, he had been sent to stand in a corner had Roddy felt so guilty. And to his horror he found he was torn with a hysterical¹⁶ desire to laugh.
 
“But, Madame Rojas,” he protested hastily, “it is impossible for me to leave until I make clear to you——”
 
In the fashion of the country, Señora Rojas clapped her hands.
 
“Surely,” she exclaimed, “you will not subject me to a scene before the servants.”
 
In answer to her summons the doors flew open, and the frightened servants, who had heard of the blood-stained messenger, pushed into the room. [Pg 273]With the air of a great lady dismissing an honored guest Señora Rojas bowed to Roddy, and Roddy, accepting the inevitable¹⁷, bowed deeply in return.
 
As he walked to the door he cast toward Inez an unhappy look of apology and appeal. But the smile with which she answered seemed to show that, to her, their discomfiture¹⁸ was in no way tragic¹⁹. Roddy at once took heart and beamed with gratitude²⁰. In the look he gave her he endeavored to convey his assurance of the devotion of a lifetime.
 
“Good-by,” said Inez pleasantly.
 
“Good-by,” said Roddy.
 
On coming to Porto Cabello Sam Caldwell had made his headquarters at the home of the United States Consul²¹, who owed his appointment to the influence of Mr. Forrester, and who, in behalf of that gentleman, was very justly suspected by Alvarez of “pernicious activity.” On taking his leave of Señora Rojas, which he did as soon as Roddy had been shown the door, Caldwell hastened to the Consulate²², and, as there might be domiciliary visits to the houses of all the Vegaistas, Colonel Ramon, seeking protection as a political refugee, accompanied him.
 
The police had precipitated²³ the departure of [Pg 274]Vega from the city by only a few hours. He had planned to leave it and to join his adherents²⁴ in the mountains that same afternoon, and it was only to learn the result of the final appeal to Roddy that he had waited. As they hastened through the back streets to the Consulate, Ramon said:
 
“It was not worth waiting for. Young Forrester told nothing. And why? Because he knows nothing!”
 
“To me,” growled²⁵ Caldwell, “he makes a noise like a joker in the pack. I don’t mind telling you he’s got me listening. He wouldn’t have thrown up his job and quarrelled with his father and Señora Rojas if he wasn’t pretty sure he was in right. Vega tells me, three weeks ago Roddy went to Curaçao to ask Madame Rojas to help him get her husband out of prison. Instead, she turned him down hard. But did that phase him? No! I believe he’s still working—working at this moment on some plan of his own to get Rojas free. Every night he goes out in his launch with young De Peyster. Where do they go? They say they go fishing. Well, maybe! We can’t follow them, for they douse²⁶ the lights and their motor is too fast for us. But, to me, it looks like a rescue, for the only way they could rescue Rojas would be from the harbor. If they have slipped him tools and he is[Pg 275] cutting his way to the water, some dark night they’ll carry him off in that damned launch. And then,” he exclaimed angrily, “where would I be? That old Rip Van Winkle has only got to show his face, and it would be all over but the shouting. He’d lose us what we’ve staked on Vega, and he’d make us carry out some of the terms of our concession²⁷ that would cost us a million more.”
 
Ramon exclaimed with contempt.
 
“Forrester!” he cried. “He is only a boy!”
 
“Any boy,” snapped Caldwell impatiently “who is clever enough to get himself engaged to the richest girl in Venezuela, under the guns of her mother and Pino Vega, is old enough to vote. I take my hat off to him.”
 
The Venezuelan turned his head and looked meaningly at Caldwell; his eyes were hard and cruel.
 
“I regret,” he said, “but he must be stopped.”
 
“No, you don’t!” growled Caldwell; “that’s not the answer. We won’t stop him. We’ll let him go! It’s the other man we’ll stop—Rojas!”
 
“Yes, yes!” returned Ramon eagerly. “That is the only way left. Rojas must die!”
 
“Die!” laughed Caldwell comfortably. “Not a bit like it! I’m rather planning to improve his health.” He stopped and glanced up and down [Pg 276]the narrow street. It was empty. He laid his hand impressively on the arm of the Venezuelan.
 
“To-day,” he whispered, “some one will send a letter—an anonymous²⁸ letter—to San Carlos, telling the Commandante why General Rojas would be more comfortable in another cell.”
 
From Miramar, Roddy returned directly to his house. On the way he found the city in a ferment²⁹; all shops had closed, the plazas³⁰ and cafés were crowded, and the Alameda was lined with soldiers. Wherever a few men gathered together the police ordered them to separate; and in the driveways, troopers of Alvarez, alert and watchful³¹, each with his carbine on his hip³², rode slowly at a walk, glancing from left to right. At his house, Roddy found gathered there all of the White Mice: Peter, McKildrick, Vicenti and Pedro. They had assembled, he supposed, to learn the result of his visit to Miramar, but they were concerned with news more important. Vicenti had called them together to tell them that, at any moment, the Rojas faction³³ might rise and attempt to seize the city and San Carlos. The escape of Vega, and the fact, which was now made public, that he had proclaimed himself in revolt, had given the Rojas faction the opportunity for which it had been waiting. The [Pg 277]city was denuded³⁴ of Government troops. For hours they had been pouring out of it in pursuit of Vega and his little band of revolutionists; and until reënforcements should arrive from Caracas, which might not be in twenty-four hours, the city was defenseless. The moment for the Rojas party had come.
 
But Vicenti feared that the assault on San Carlos would result, not only in the death of many of those who attacked it, but also would be the signal on the inside for the instant assassination³⁵ of Rojas. It therefore was imperative³⁶, before the attack was made, to get Rojas out of prison. He dared not inform even the leaders of the Rojas party of the proposed rescue. It must be attempted only by those who could be absolutely trusted, those already in the secret. And it was for that purpose he had called the White Mice together. When Roddy arrived they had, subject to his approval, arranged their plan. From what Vicenti had learned, the assault on the fortress³⁷ would be made at midnight. It was accordingly agreed that at nine o’clock, when it would be quite dark, they would blow open the wall. Roddy, McKildrick and Peter would dine together at Roddy’s house, and at eight, in the launch, would leave his wharf. Pedro, whose presence would assure General Rojas of the [Pg 278]good intentions of the others, was directed to so arrange his departure from Miramar as to arrive by the shore route at the wharf in time to accompany them. And Vicenti, who had set his watch with McKildrick’s, was at once to inform General Rojas of what was expected to happen, and at nine o’clock, when the wall fell, to rush with him through the breach³⁸.
 
In the patio³⁹ the men, standing⁴⁰ and in silence, drank to the success of their undertaking⁴¹, and then, after each had shaken hands with the others, separated. By Roddy’s orders Pedro was to inform Inez of their plan and to tell her that, if the Rojas party, in its attack upon the city, was successful, her father might that night sleep at Miramar. If, after his release, the issue were still in doubt, the launch would carry him to Curaçao.
 
Vicenti left for San Carlos. In case it should be necessary to make the dash to Willemstad, Peter remained at the house to collect for the voyage provisions, medicine, stimulants⁴², casks of water, and McKildrick and Roddy departed in the launch to lay the mine which was to destroy the barrier. On their way they stopped at the light-house, where McKildrick collected what he wanted for that purpose. It was now four o’clock in the afternoon, and by five they had entered the tunnel and reached [Pg 279]the wall. McKildrick dug a hole in the cement a few feet above the base, and in this shoved a stick of dynamite⁴³ of sixty per cent. nitro, and attached a number six cap and a fuse a foot long. This would burn for one minute and allow whoever lighted it that length of time to get under cover. In case of a miss-fire, he had brought with him extra sticks, fuses and caps. These, with drills and a sledge⁴⁴-hammer, they hid in a corner of the wall.
 
In the damp darkness of the tunnel it was difficult to believe that outside the sun was still shining.
 
“If it were only night!” said Roddy. “I hate to leave it. I’d only have to touch a match to that, and he’d be free.”
 
“Free of the cell,” assented⁴⁵ McKildrick, “but we could never get him away. The noise will bring the whole garrison⁴⁷. It will be like heaving a brick into a hornets’ nest. We must wait for darkness. This is no matinée performance.”
 
On the return trip to the city they sat in silence, the mind of each occupied by his own thoughts. How serious these thoughts were neither cared to confess in words, but as they passed under the guns of the fortress they glanced at each other and smiled.
 
“You mustn’t think, Mac,” said Roddy gratefully,[Pg 280] “I don’t appreciate what you’re doing. You stand to lose a lot!”
 
“I can always get another job,” returned McKildrick.
 
“You can’t if one of these fellows puts a bullet in you,” said Roddy. “You know you are making a big sacrifice, and I thank you for it.”
 
McKildrick looked at him in some embarrassment⁴⁸.
 
“You stand to lose more than any of us,” he said. “I’m told you are to be congratulated.” His eyes were so full of sympathy and good feeling that Roddy held out his hand.
 
“You’re the first one to do it,” he said happily; “and it’s good to hear. Mac!” he exclaimed, in awe-struck tones, “I’m the happiest, luckiest, and the least deserving beggar in all the world!”
 
McKildrick smiled dryly.
 
“I seem to have heard something like that before,” he said.
 
“Never!” cried Roddy stoutly⁴⁹. “Other poor devils may have thought so, but I know. It never happened to any one but me!”
 
McKildrick turned his eyes seaward and frowned,
 
“I even used the same lines myself once,” he said; “but I found I’d got hold of some other[Pg 281] fellow’s part. So if anything should come my way to-night it wouldn’t make such a lot of difference.”
 
Roddy took one hand from the wheel and, leaning forward, touched McKildrick on the knee.
 
“I’m sorry,” he said; “I didn’t know.”
 
McKildrick nodded, and as though glad of an interruption, held up his hand.
 
“Listen!” he cried. “Stop the engine!”
 
Roddy let the launch slip forward on her own headway. In the silence that followed they heard from the city the confused murmur⁵⁰ of a mob and the sharp bark of pistols. They looked at each other significantly.
 
“The surface indications seem to show,” said McKildrick, “that things are loosening up. I guess it’s going to be one of those nights!”
 
As they rounded the point and the whole of the harbor front came into view, they saw that the doors of the bonded⁵¹ warehouses⁵² had been broken open, and that the boxes and bales they contained had been tumbled out upon the wharf and piled into barricades⁵³. From behind these, and from the windows of the custom-house, men not in uniform, and evidently of the Rojas faction, were firing upon the tiny gun-boat in the harbor, and from it their rifle-fire was being answered by an automatic gun. With full speed ahead, Roddy ran [Pg 282]the gauntlet of this cross-fire, and in safety tied up to his own wharf.
 
“Go inside,” he commanded, “and find out what has happened. And tell Peter we’ll take his cargo⁵⁴ on board now. Until we’re ready to start I’ll stay by the launch and see no one tries to borrow her.”
 
Peter and McKildrick returned at once, and with gasoline, tins of biscuit and meat, and a cask of drinking water, stocked the boat for her possible run to Curaçao. The Rojas party, so Peter informed them, had taken the barracks in the suburbs and, preliminary to an attack on the fortress, had seized the custom-house which faced it; but the artillery⁵⁵ barracks, which were inside the city, were still in the hands of the government troops. Until they were taken, with the guns in them, the Rojas faction were without artillery, and against the fortress could do nothing. It was already dusk, and, in half an hour, would be night. It was for this the Rojas crowd were waiting. As yet, of Vega and his followers⁵⁶ no news had reached the city. But the government troops were pursuing him closely, and it was probable that an engagement had already taken place.
 
“By this time,” said Roddy, “Vicenti has told Rojas, and in an hour Pedro will arrive, and then we start. Go get something to eat, and send my[Pg 283] dinner out here. I’ve some tinkering to do on the engine.”
 
Before separating, McKildrick suggested that Peter and Roddy should set their watches by his, which was already set to agree with Vicenti’s.
 
“For, should anything happen to me,” he explained, “you boys must blow up the wall, and you must know just when you are to do it. Roddy knows how to do it, and,” he added to Peter, “I’ll explain it to you while we’re at dinner.”
 
They left Roddy on his knees, busily plying⁵⁷ his oil-can, and crossed the garden. In the patio they found the table ready for dinner, and two lamps casting a cheerful light upon the white cloth and flashing from the bottle of red Rioja.
 
As they seated themselves, one of the stray bullets that were singing above the housetops dislodged a tile, and the pieces of red clay fell clattering⁵⁸ into the court-yard. Peter reached for the claret and, with ostentatious slowness, filled McKildrick’s glass.
 
“Dynasties may come,” he said, “and dynasties may go; but I find one always dines.”
 
“Why not?” replied McKildrick. “Napoleon said an army is a collection of stomachs. Why should you and I pretend to be better soldiers than Napoleon’s?”
 
[Pg 284]As a signal to the kitchen he clapped his hands; but the servant who answered came not from the kitchen, but from the street. His yellow skin was pale with fright. He gasped⁵⁹ and pointed⁷ into the shadow at a soldier who followed him. The man wore the uniform of a hospital steward⁶⁰ and on his arm the badge of the Red Cross. He stepped forward and, glancing with concern from Peter to McKildrick, saluted⁶¹ mechanically.
 
“Doctor Vicenti!” he exclaimed; “he wishes to see you. He is outside on a stretcher. We are taking him to the hospital, but he made us bring him here first.” The man shook his head sharply. “He is dying!” he said.
 
In this sudden threat of disaster to their plan the thought of both the conspirators⁶² was first for Rojas.
 
“My God!” cried Peter, and stared helplessly at the older man.
 
“Dying?” protested McKildrick. “I saw him an hour ago; he was——”
 
“He was caring for the wounded in the streets. He was shot,” answered the man gravely, laying his finger on his heart, “here!”
 
“Caring for the wounded!” cried McKildrick. “Why in hell wasn’t he——”
 
“Be quiet!” warned Peter.
 
McKildrick checked himself and, followed by Peter, ran to the street. In the light from the open door he saw an army stretcher, and on it a figure of a man covered with a blanket. An officer and the soldiers who had borne the stretcher stood in the shadow. With an exclamation⁶⁴ of remorse⁶⁵ and sympathy, McKildrick advanced quickly and leaned forward. But the man on the stretcher was not Vicenti. To make sure, McKildrick bent⁶⁶ lower, and in an instant the stranger threw out his arms and, clasping him around the neck, dragged him down. At the same moment the stretcher bearers fell upon him from the rear, and, wrenching⁶⁷ back his arms, held them together until the officer clasped his wrists with handcuffs. From Peter he heard a muffled⁶⁸ roar and, twisting his head, saw him rolling on the sidewalk. On top of him were a half-dozen soldiers; when they lifted him to his feet his wrists also were in manacles.
 
McKildrick’s outbursts were silenced by the officer.
 
“You need not tell me you are Americans,” he said, “and if you go quietly no harm will come. We wish only to keep you out of mischief⁶⁹.”
 
“Go?” demanded Peter. “Go where?”
 
“To the cartel,” said the officer, smiling. “You will be safer there.”
 
He stepped into the light and waved his sword, and from across the street came running many more soldiers. A squad⁷⁰ of these the officer detailed⁷¹ to surround his prisoners. To the others he said: “Search the house. Find the third one, Señor Forrester. Do not harm him, but,” he added meaningly, “bring him with you!”
 
At the word, Peter swung his arms free from the man who held them. With a yell of warning, which he hoped would reach Roddy, and pulling impotently at his handcuffs, he dashed into the house, the soldiers racing⁷² at his heels.
 
Roddy had finished his inspection⁷³ of his engine, but was still guarding the launch, waiting with impatience⁷⁴ for some one to bring him his dinner. He was relieved to note that from the direction of Miramar there was no sound of fighting. In the lower part of the city he could hear a brisk fusillade, but, except from the custom-house, the firing had more the sound of street fighting than of an organized attack. From this, he judged the assault on the artillery barracks had not yet begun. He flashed his electric torch on his watch, and it showed half past seven. There was still a half-hour to wait. He rose and, for the hundredth time, spun⁷⁶ the wheel of his engine, examined his revolver, and yawned nervously⁷⁷. It was now quite dark. Through the trees and shrubs⁷⁸ in the garden he could see the lights on the dinner-table and the spectacle made him the more hungry. To remind the others that he was starving, he gave a long whistle. It was at once cautiously answered, to his surprise, not from the house but from a spot a hundred feet from him, on the shore of the harbor. He decided⁷⁹, as it was in the direction one would take in walking from Miramar, that Pedro had arrived, and he sighed with relief. He was about to repeat his signal of distress⁸⁰ when, from the patio, there arose a sudden tumult⁸¹. In an instant, with a crash of broken glass and china, the lights were extinguished, and he heard the voice of Peter shrieking⁸² his name. He sprang from the launch and started toward the garden. At that moment a heavy body crashed upon the gravel⁶³ walk, and there was the rush of many feet.
 
“Roddy!” shrieked the voice of Peter, “they’re taking us to jail. They’re coming after you. Run! Run like hell!”
 
In the darkness Roddy could see nothing. He heard what sounded like an army of men trampling⁸³ and beating the bushes. His first thought was that he must attempt a rescue. He jerked out his gun and raced down the wharf. Under his flying feet the boards rattled⁸⁴ and Peter heard him coming.
 
“Go back!” he shrieked furiously. “You can’t help us! You’ve got work to do! Do it!”
 
The profanity with which these orders were issued convinced Roddy that Peter was very much in earnest and in no personal danger.
 
The next moment he was left no time for further hesitation⁸⁶. His flying footsteps had been heard by the soldiers as well as by Peter, and from the garden they rushed shouting to the beach. Against such odds⁸⁷ Roddy saw that to rescue Peter was impossible, while at the same time, even alone, he still might hope to rescue Rojas.
 
He cast loose the painter of the launch, and with all his strength shoved it clear. He had apparently⁸⁸ acted not a moment too soon, for a figure clad in white leaped upon the wharf and raced toward him. Roddy sprang to the wheel and the launch moved slowly in a circle. At the first sound of the revolving⁸⁹ screw there came from the white figure a cry of dismay. It was strangely weak, strangely familiar, strangely feminine.
 
“Roddy!” cried the voice. “It is I, Inez!”
 
With a shout of amazement, joy, and consternation⁹⁰, Roddy swung the boat back toward the shore, and by the breadth of an oar-blade cleared the wharf. There was a cry of relief, of delight, a flutter of skirts, and Inez sprang into it. In an agony of fear for her safety, Roddy pushed her to the bottom of the launch.
 
“Get down!” he commanded. “They can see your dress. They’ll fire on you.”
 
From the shore an excited voice cried in Spanish “Do I shoot, sergeant⁹¹?”
 
“No!” answered another. “Remember your orders!”
 
“But he escapes!” returned the first voice, and on the word there was a flash, a report, and a bullet whined⁹² above them. Another and others followed, but the busy chug-chug of the engine continued undismayed and, as the noise of its progress died away, the firing ceased. Roddy left the wheel, and, stooping, took Inez in his arms. Behind them the city wa............