DON RAMON ORTEGA.
The object which had so startled the Dutch boy was the figure of a
middle-aged man, sprawled at full length on the floor matting. His
hands were secured behind him and his feet were bound at the ankles
with twisted towels. Over the lower part of his face another towel had
been tied, thus effectually preventing outcry.
Carl’s own troubles faded into the background. As he slowly got the
whip hand of himself, he struck another match and stepped to the man’s
side. The man gurgled incoherently behind the gag and his dark eyes
pleaded for immediate release.
“Dere is some tricky bizness here, I guess!” exclaimed Carl. “Don’d be
schared of me,” he added to the man, “I’m a friendt, und I vill help
you. Schust vait a leedle undil I ged a bedder lighdt.”
There was an oil lamp on a table, and Carl stepped to it and applied
a match to the wick. In the glow that presently flooded the room, the
Dutch boy returned to the man, knelt down beside him, and removed the
towels.
The man, attempting to rise, fell helplessly back again.
“Vas you hurt?” asked Carl solicitously.
“Hurt?” echoed the man, speaking good English, although with a very
perceptible foreign accent. “Not at all, señor; only my limbs--they are
so cramped from confinement that I cannot stand. Soon they will be all
right. But who are you?” Suspicion suddenly flamed in his dark eyes.
“How does it happen that you know of my trouble and have come here?
Are you a confederate of the rascally Don Carlos?”
“Don Garlos?” repeated Carl. “I don’d know dot feller from Adam. I vas
a shdranger in dis blace, und all I know is der Amerigan consul, Misder
Hays Chordan, und Doctor Armsdrong, und----”
“You are American?” interrupted the other eagerly. “How do you happen
to be here?”
“Id vas a blunder, dot’s all,” answered Carl. “A pulltog chased me und
pooty near caught me, too. I got ofer der vall from der odder side und
couldn’t get back some more. Vat a high vall is aboudt der place! Und
so smoot’ und shlippery as I can’t dell.”
“What were you doing in the other yard?”
Carl did not want to mention that part of it, but it seemed necessary
in order to convince the man of his harmless intentions.
“Vell,” he answered diffidently, “I vent der mit meinself to serenate a
young laty py der name of Miss Sixdy----”
“Miss Ysabel Sixty?” the other again interrupted, even more eagerly
than he had done before.
“Yah, so!” beamed Carl. “You know her?”
“Indeed, yes. But she does not live in the next house, señor. An
English captain lives there---an officer in charge of the constabulary.
Miss Sixty is staying with friends a block farther down the street, and
around the corner.”
“Vell, I t’ought I had made some misdakes,” said Carl, vastly relieved.
“Blease, haf you some patches and some neetles and t’read? I vouldt
like to be respectable vonce more.”
The man got to his feet slowly, and then, his eyes gleaming ominously,
caught Carl’s arm in both hands.
“Let us not think so much of ourselves now, señor,” he said thickly,
“but of others.”
Carl began to wonder whether the released gentleman was crazy or
excited.
“I am Don Ramon Ortega,” explained the man.
This was another surprise. Carl had heard of Don Ramon Ortega. He
was the Spanish consul in Belize, a man of high lineage and of much
importance.
“How keveer dot I shouldt come py your house like dis!” muttered Carl.
“I hope,” he added, in a tremor, “dot der laties von’t come----”
“There are none here but ourselves,” cut in the don. “My family and all
the servants have gone to Mexico. I myself was intending to go in the
morning, but now I shall not leave Belize until I make that scoundrelly
Don Carlos Valdez answer for this rascally work he has done!”
“Don Carlos Valdez?” repeated Carl. “I don’t know der feller. Vat has
he done?”
“I will tell you,” answered the don. “Come, let us sit down for a
moment. My limbs are not strong yet, and there is much to be done.”
Carl, excited and curious, dropped into a chair. The don, after giving
a cautious look outside, closed the door and returned to Carl. Drawing
a chair close, he seated himself.
“Tell me,” said he, “do you know of a submarine boat in the harbor
called the _Grampus?_ You are American, and the boat is owned by
Captain Nemo, junior, an American. You should know of her.”
“Vell, you bed you! Vy, I’m vone of der crew of der _Grampus!_ I come
mit her ven she arrifed, und I vas mit her ven she got der American
consul avay from der repels in der River Izaral. Vy, Bob Steele, who
vas boss of der boat, is my friendt, my pard! Und so is Dick Ferral!
Know der _Grampus!_ I know her insite und oudt, oop und down und
sitevays! My name is Pretzel, Carl Pretzel.”
Don Ramon Ortega was astounded, but happily so. Reaching out his hand,
he clasped Carl’s convulsively.
“Ah, what good fortune!” he murmured; “what amazing luck! Destiny is at
work in all this. Fate guided you to me to-night, my young friend!”
“A pulltog hat more to do mit it as fate,” answered Carl simply.
“Listen!” proceeded the don hurriedly. “I was here alone in the
early evening. Some one rang the bell at the gate. I went out and
admitted”--anger throbbed in the Spaniards voice--“Don Carlos Valdez!
He is what you Americans call a trouble maker. I call him a pestilence,
an evil specter who stalks through the devoted countries and helps
revolutionists overthrow established governments. I am Spanish, but
I love law and order! I hate violence and bloodshed! I am for peace!
But Don Carlos is always for war, and more war, for in that he finds
unholy profit. Well, it was he who called on me to-night. He declared
that he wanted a passport, for he was going abroad. I told him to go
to my secretary, at the legation. He said he had been there, but that
the secretary was not in. I could not refuse him the passport if his
intentions were peaceable and he paid the fee, so he came back into
the house with me. As I seated myself and leaned over the table, the
demon struck me from behind. I fell unconscious. When I recovered, I
was bound as you saw me, and I have lain so for hours. But Don Carlos
had not left when I regained consciousness. He and I have long been at
swords’ points, and he taunted me with the base plans he intended to
carry out.”
Don Ramon writhed in his chair in a spasm of fierce anger.
“Vat vas he going to do?” asked Carl.
“He has designs on the submarine!” proceeded the don. “He thinks the
boat would be valuable to the revolutionists to the south of us. They
are threatening Port Livingston, at the mouth of the Izaral, and are
seeking to secure the fort there. The lawful authorities of the state
will send ships of war to defeat the revolutionists, and Don Carlos
wants the submarine to destroy the war vessels.”
Carl gasped, then he added soothingly, “Don’d you be exzited. Der
schemer von’t get der supmarine. Captain Nemo, junior, is sick, but Bob
Steele is on der job, und you bed you he von’t let Don Carlos haf der
_Grampus_ to help oudt der repels.”
“No! Bob Steele will not hire the boat to the rascally Don Carlos, who
is a serpent for craft. He intends to get the boat away from Belize by
a ruse--and will use my name, my honorable name, to help him prosecute
his villainous plot! Think of that!”
“How vill he do it?”
“I do not know, but such is his miserable intention; he flaunted it
in my face as I lay on the floor at his feet, helpless to move or to
speak. We must prevent him from carrying out his contemptible designs.
I have told you so much, because it was necessary that you should
understand. Come! Let us go at once to Bob Steele! Let us warn him, and
put him on his guard.”
“Good!” agreed Carl heartily. “But haf you a pair of drousers vat I
couldt vear?”
“That is a small matter, Señor Pretzel,” demurred the don on his way
to the door. “We have other and larger matters to claim our instant
attention.”
“Some more drousers is kevite imbortant mit me,” insisted Carl.
Rather than waste time arguing, Don Ramon flung off into a neighboring
room. He returned presently with a pair of white duck trousers, and
Carl climbed into them. They were too long and too narrow, but the
Dutch boy contrived to make them serve.
“Now,” said Carl, “get der key of der front gate und lead der vay.”
The don took a key from the drawer of the table.
“Come,” said he, hurrying from the door.
“Id’s a funny bizness,” remarked Carl, following, “dot dis Carlos
feller vouldt leaf der door oben und lock der gate.”
“The gate locks itself when it is closed,” explained the don.
“I don’d t’ink, anyvay, dere is mooch use vorryin’ aboudt der boat,”
proceeded Carl, as the don unlocked the gate. “Dot Carlos feller vill
haf his hants full pulling der vool ofer Bob Steele’s eyes.”
“You do not know Carlos as well as I,” answered Don Ramon ominously.
“He is plausible, he has many tricks, and then he is impersonating
_me!_ Bob Steele must know me by name, although I have not the pleasure
of his personal acquaintance. I am fearing the worst, ah, yes, the
worst!”
The gate clanged behind them and the don and Carl raced for the
International Hotel. Carl had not seen either of his chums at supper,
and he had not spent much time looking for them. The serenade had been
uppermost in Carl’s mind, and he had been afraid Bob or Dick might
propose something that would interfere with his plans.
In the hotel office they learned that Bob and Dick had gone out to the
submarine early in the evening to arrange some stores that had been
taken aboard. They had not come back, so the inference was that they
were staying the night on the craft.
There was nothing left for the don and Carl to do but to hurry on to
the wharf. There, at the landing from which sailboats usually carried
the _Grampus’_ crew to the anchorage, half a mile out in the bay, they
met a policeman.
“What are you looking for, Don Ramon?” inquired the officer
respectfully, touching the don on the shoulder as he and Carl were
gazing off across the surface of the bay.
“For the riding lights of the submarine boat,” answered the don.
“You won’t see them, sir. The submarine left the harbor four hours ago,
bound south.”
“We are too late!” cried the don. “Tell me, did she have any
passengers?”
“Bob Steele and the boat’s usual crew were aboard anyhow. I saw Bob
Steele and his friend Ferral going out.”
“Did any one else go out to the boat?”
“Yes, Don Carlos Valdez and four or five negroes. They----”
The don whirled away and caught Carl’s arm.
“Too late!” he whispered hoarsely. “But perhaps there is still
something we can do. Come! We will call on the American consul; we will
tell him what we fear!”
Carl was in a daze. That serenade of his, which had proved a farce,
seemed to be leading up to something tragic.