CHAPTER LVIII.

THE END OF THE TRAIL.

When the first boat is alongside the America, Barker is the first man to clamber to the deck, and the first individual he gets his eye on is Jack Ashley.

“Hello! Well met,” remarks that young man, extending his hand. “I was expecting you any minute.”

Barker gives Jack’s hand a perfunctory clasp and passes on with a gruff “Hello!”

“I am not yet forgiven. I see,” thinks Ashley, as he turns to the rest of the party coming aboard. He greets Miss Hathaway warmly and Van Zandt genially, and grips Navarro’s hand with a pressure of strong friendship.

There is no present opportunity for mutual explanations, as a serious interruption is apparent in the shape of a boat that has put out from the Spanish man-of-war and is rapidly approaching the America.

With a shade of anxiety the people of the Semiramis await the arrival of the boat. They note the preparations to receive with due honor the representative of the Infanta Isabel, the marines drawn up in double file beside the gangway, the officers of the America in position on the quarter-deck. But there is no time for speculation or conjecture. Eight pairs of dripping oars are simultaneously raised, the boat glides softly to the side of the cruiser, and a moment later the Spanish officer is bowing profoundly to the commander of the America.

His excellency, Admiral Sanchez of his majesty’s man-of-war Infanta Isabel, presents his compliments to the commander of the United States cruiser America and begs to say that the passengers, officers and crew of the steamer just sunk, who have sought asylum on the American vessel, are rebels, in arms against his majesty the king of Spain; that their vessel, just sunk, has within the last three hours destroyed the royal Spanish dispatch boat Pizarro. Wherefore his excellency respectfully asks that the said officers, passengers and crew of the rebel ship be delivered to the representative of her majesty’s ship Infanta Isabel as prisoners of war.

Captain Meade listens patiently while the Spanish officer delivers his message, his brow knitting slightly at the reference to the destruction of the dispatch boat. Then he turns to Captain Beals:

“What have you to say to this statement and why were you flying the American flag, if you were in command of an insurgent vessel?”

“We are not insurgents and we did not destroy the dispatch boat,” is the reply. “The pleasure yacht Semiramis of New York, Van Zandt owner, was in collision with the Pizarro in the harbor of Santiago. The Pizarro stood directly in our course, notwithstanding our signals that we proposed to pass to port. We should have gone aground if we had not fouled her. We did not stop, as the Semiramis was badly stove and subsequently sunk, as you have seen. Further, our officers and crew and the passengers are without exception American citizens. As such, I appeal to the commander of an American vessel for protection.”

“And you shall have it,” murmurs Captain Meade under his breath. To the Spaniard he says: “Present my compliments to his excellency, Admiral Sanchez, and say that the commander of the America finds upon investigation that the officers and crew of the late steamer Semiramis are American citizens, who claim the protection of the American flag; that her captain and officers maintain that the destruction of the Pizarro was an accident for which they are in no wise responsible. Therefore I am constrained to decline to grant the courteous request of his excellency.”

The Spanish officer bows respectfully and continues: “His excellency also desired to convey to the commander of the United States cruiser America the information that among the persons lately on board the sunken steamer was one Cuban rebel, denominated El Terredo, whom his excellency has every reason to believe has sought refuge on board this ship. He respectfully requests that said El Terredo be delivered to the representative of his majesty’s ship.”

Captain Meade’s eye strays over the little group, but before he can speak Navarro steps forward and says in English: “I have been designated as El Terredo, but I am an American citizen.”

“I can testify to that statement,” supplements Ashley.

Captain Meade waves his hand. “That is sufficient. Inform his excellency that all of the persons picked up in the boats from the lost steamer are American citizens. As such, I cannot surrender them.”

Again the officer bows, and his errand performed, he salutes and returns to the boat. What will be the effect of his report? Will Admiral Sanchez resent with force Captain Meade’s decision, or will he gracefully bow to the inevitable? The latter apparently, for a few moments after the officer ascends the side of the man-of-war the Spanish flag is dipped in salute to the America and the Infanta Isabel steams slowly back in the direction of Santiago.

“Again is Providence on the side of the heaviest guns,” murmurs Ashley, as he walks over to where Barker is leaning against the rail, and claps him on the back. “John, I am powerful glad to see you,” he declares heartily.

“I don’t know whether I can say the same or not,” rejoins the detective, sulkily. “For a man whose infernal meddling with affairs that did not concern him nearly cost me my life, you appear pretty cool and unconcerned.”

“My dear friend,” says Ashley, “if I had not been at Jibana half a dozen days ago you would never have forgiven yourself for the part you played as a soldier of Castile. Do you know who Don Carlos was?”

“I know he, or she, was a woman.”

“Oh, you do?”

“Yes; and if you had shown yourself after the scrimmage, instead of sneaking off to Santiago, I might have told you of my discovery.”

“Ungrateful wretch!” cries Ashley in mock reproach. “I admit that I got you into the scrape, but I also got you out of it. The fiery El Terredo would have strung you to a telegraph pole had I not begged for your life and liberty. Yes; Don Carlos was a woman, and she was Helen Hathaway.”

“Then El Terredo?” marvels the detective, who is beginning to see daylight.

“Was Derrick Ames, of course. Anyone except a detective would have discovered that long ago.”

“Indeed,” retorts Barker. “When did you find it out?”

“Early this morning,” laughs Ashley. “But let us be serious. Where are the Feltons, father and son?”

“One dead, and the other perhaps so,” replies Barker, and he tells Ashley the story of an exciting day at Santiago.

“It must be done,” the detective is saying, concluding his narrative. “Your sympathies naturally stand in the way, so I will relieve you of all active participation in the affair. All you will have to do is to be a silent witness. One thing you must do, though. You must see Mrs. Ames and have her pledge that she will not let her husband know that she has told you her story. I must handle the affair gently, as Ames is as flashy as gunpowder. You will see Helen, then?”

“Yes; I will fix it immediately. When do you occupy the center of the stage?”

“To-morrow. I will let you know in due season.”

“All right, old chap. I will be glad when it is all over. So long.”

There are many happy hearts on the America this night. The meeting between the sisters, Helen and Louise, was a dramatic one, and after affectionate confidences had been exchanged each sought the man she loved best.

But a shadow of sadness hovers about the four as they sit on the quarter-deck and watch the big white moon rise out of the sea. Now that all the excitement is over Van Zandt has dropped back into his old reserve, and the consciousness of his odd relations to Louise Hathaway reverts to him with unpleasant keenness. Ames is moody and abstracted and only the incessant flow of spirits of Jack Ashley, who joins the group with Juanita, keeps the little party alive.

But bedtime comes early, for everyone is thoroughly tired, and the party disperses with many a fervent “Good-night, and pleasant dreams.”

And as Van Zandt prepares to go below he feels a touch on his arm and turns to see John Barker. “Mr. Van Zandt, will you grant me a few minutes before you retire?” requests the detective.

“Certainly,” is the reply. “Come to my stateroom.”

Ashley rises early the next morning and as he smokes his after-breakfast cigar Barker joins him.

“I shall want you at ten o’clock, promptly,” says the detective. “Meet me in the private cabin, or whatever it is called on shipboard. I have secured exclusive use of it for an hour.”

“Very well,” replies Jack, abstractedly.

Promptly at ten, Ashley repairs below, and as he enters the cabin he finds Ames and Van Zandt there. They look at him questioningly, but before he has opportunity to say more than “Good-morning,” Barker enters, closes the door and locks it.

Ames flushes angrily. “So,” he says, “it is at your request that I am here?”

“It is,” replies the detective, calmly.

“What do you mean, sir, by inviting me to this place and locking the door upon me?”

“I simply do not wish to be disturbed,” is Barker’s unruffled response. “The cruiser America is now United States territory. I have business with you, Mr. Ames. Gentlemen, will you not be seated?”