Frequently since that incident, I have laughed at the quickness with
which Anderson and I leapt at his fat, smug person. In less time than it
takes to tell it, we had booted, hauled and dragged that chap out into
the hall, where Anderson finished him off with a neat black eye for good
measure. The flurry attracted attention, even on that tenth floor, and,
darting back into our rooms, young Anderson and I decided that it was
time for us to get out.
We packed our stuff, and a few minutes later called at the hotel
office for our valuables. These were handed over to us with gratifying
promptness. Then we hailed a taxi and sped for the address Hardy had left
with us.
Though we could not see that anyone was following us, still there was
much traffic in the streets, and we felt sure we were under constant
observation. At Hardy’s address we found a highly nervous old lady, who
was very deaf. With much difficulty, and repeated shouting of the name “H
A R D Y” we finally made her understand.
She led us to his rooms up the stairs. Hardy was not there, nor was there
much of his belongings in evidence. The old lady left us and returned
after a bit with a book. This she handed to me, making signs that it was
from Hardy.
Thumbing it quickly through, I found what we were looking for. The
message, folded and inserted between the pages of the book, was dated two
days previously. It ran as follows:
“_My Dear Comrades: Castro, the half-breed, double-crossed us.
His cut-throat crowd, I have just learned, are now waiting
for me outside, and I am writing this note in the hope that
you will follow me up and find it. You must at once leave
Brazil. Castro has informed certain political hangers-on of
the treasure. These fellows have trumped up a charge against
the three of us of having murdered de Silva. In five minutes I
shall leave this room by the window in an attempt to escape. I
have never yet waited for a Spaniard to come and get me. I like
to go to him first._
“_If you don’t hear from me before Tuesday you may reasonably
assume that I have been done in. The game is big and they’ll
go the limit. DO NOT TRUST ANYBODY, not even the local
American consul. He probably is all right, but in this land of
‘honest graft’ the trail leads to high places, believe me. Get
that boat for New York that leaves Wednesday at four in the
afternoon. Good-bye and good luck!_
“_HARDY._”
I heard a sob from Anderson as we finished reading the missive. That the
indomitable Hardy had come to his end seemed incredible, and yet not only
had Tuesday gone by with no word, but this was Wednesday, and less than
three hours remained before the boat sailed, with our passage and berth
arrangements still to be made.
Outside, our taxi, with its motor still running, waited for us, and if
ever mortal men were in a dilemma Anderson and I were those individuals.
Finally Anderson strode over to me, and, with a look in his eyes such as
I had never before seen, he said:
“I can’t go and leave Hardy without making some effort to help him.”
I gripped his hand. What a relief! It seemed almost as if already we had
rescued him—and yet there we were, two utter strangers in that great
South American city, with a band of conscienceless rascals after us,
backed by the power of the law!
We started down the stairs where we observed the old house-wife. She was
reading a newspaper, which she now hurried to show us. And there, in a
comparatively prominent place, was the news that Hardy had been killed
in what was designated as a street brawl. Even our slight knowledge of
Spanish made that short paragraph all too intelligible.
Into the taxi we hurried, with Anderson pinching my arm.