CHAPTER IV.AT THE PREFATURA.
Hal marched through the main entrance to the Prefatura.
His bearing was as proud as ever.
He could not have shown more fortitude had he felt that the whole honor of Old Glory was resting on his youthful shoulders.
He had marched for more than two miles through the streets, his military escort taking a roundabout course, as if they enjoyed displaying this dangerous captive to the excited populace.
He had been jeered at, jibed at, made the butt of hundreds of coarse jokes.
At last he had reached the Prefatura. Senor Vasquez still brought up the rear. He carried himself with the air of one who wishes it understood that he has done his duty by his country.
In the corridor of the Prefatura Hal’s escort halted until it could be learned before which official the prisoner was to be taken.
In the same corridor were other prisoners, each under guard.
There was only this difference: Hal Maynard was erect, rosy, healthy-looking. The other poor wretches, most of whom were women, were plainly Cubans.
Their invariably starved appearance showed them to be reconcentrados—people from the interior who had been driven in by General Weyler’s infamous order, and then left to starve.
There was little, if any, acute terror in their fates. They had suffered so much, had witnessed so many atrocities, that they were indifferent to what was yet to come.
Paris, during the Reign of Terror, was not such a city of horrors as Havana has lately been!
Captain Tamiva, Hal’s chief captor, still bearing the letter “found” in the boy’s trunk, disappeared into one of the numerous offices opening upon the corridor.
He soon came back, ordering the soldiers to take their prisoner in.
Hal found himself arraigned before a stern-looking, elderly Spaniard. Before the latter, on his desk, lay the accusing letter.
He looked up quickly, this official, shot a penetrating look into the boy’s face, and snarled out:
“So you are another of the Yankee pigs who root with our Cuban sucklings!”
“I am an American citizen, certainly,” replied Hal.
“And a sympathizer, as I said.”
“I have never held communication with the insurgents.”
“But this letter?”
“I know nothing about it.”
“It was found in your trunk.”
“Though never placed there by me.”
“Bah! Of what avail is lying? Do you think you are talking to some of your own stupid Yankees? Confess!”
“How can I,” retorted Hal, “when there is nothing to confess?”
The official scowled, snorting impatiently:
“Time is valuable. We have too many cases like yours to attend to. The island is full of treason. Instantly tell me all you know about this letter, and the plans at which it hints, or take the consequences.”
“There is nothing that I can tell you,” rejoined Hal, earnestly.
“Then take the consequences!”
“I shall have to, since I can’t run away from them.”
“Very well. Then this is the disposition of your case: At ten to-night you shall be rowed across the harbor to Morro Castle. Once in a dungeon there you will be out of my jurisdiction, and thenceforth under the eye of General Blanco.”
All the while Senor Vasquez had stood by looking silently on with his eager, burning eyes.
“One moment,” he now interposed. “May I have a word with the prisoner.”
“To one of such known loyalty as Senor Vasquez,” replied the police official, politely, “no favor can be refused.”
Vasquez led our hero to the other end of the room.
“You are to go to Morro Castle,” whispered the Spaniard, warningly. “Do you know what that means?”
“Yes,” retorted Hal. “Solitary confinement until——”
“Until——” followed Vasquez, eagerly.
“Until American sailors and soldiers purify that loathsome place by planting the American flag over it.”
“Fool!” hissed Vasquez. “Do you imagine you will ever reach Morro?”
“I know only what that official said.”
“Well, then, let me tell you,” snarled the Spaniard, “that you will only embark in a boat that will start across the harbor. By and by that boat will return without you, but you will never have reached Morro! You will never be heard from again!”
“And it is for this you have plotted?” cried Hal, paling, but otherwise keeping his composure.
“If I have plotted,” murmured Vasquez, rapidly, “it was for my own good. You would not expect me to serve another than myself, would you?”
“No!” came the answer, with withering sarcasm.
“Now, my young friend,” went on the plotter, dropping into a cooing voice, “if I am a dangerous enemy, let us forget that. I am also a good friend. Your employer owed me the money which you collected. Put me in the way of finding that, and I have influence enough here to secure your freedom.”
“Now, listen to me,” retorted Hal, spiritedly. “Whether my employer owes you the money or not is nothing for me to decide. But I will tell you this honestly: I don’t know where the money is, at this moment. If I wanted to play into your hands, I simply couldn’t.”
“You are lying!” gnashed Vasquez, but a searching look into the boy’s face soon convinced that shrewd judge ofhuman nature that Maynard spoke the truth.
“I am not going to waste more time on you,” went on the Spaniard, passionately. “If you send for me before it is too late, I will come. As you value even a few more days of life, don’t tempt fate by taking the trip across the harbor to-night!”
Murmuring these words in the boy’s ears, the scoundrel turned to dart way.
As he did so, another man moved forward, saying quietly:
“I will speak with the prisoner now.”
Hal did not know the speaker until Vasquez stammered:
“The British consul general!”
“Yes,” replied the visitor, Mr. Gollan, “I was informed that a British subject named Maynard had been arrested. I hurried here only to learn that Maynard is an American citizen. Is that the case?”
“It is, sir,” affirmed Hal.
“Still,” smiled Mr. Gollan, “perhaps I can do something. At the request of my government, Consul General Lee turned over to me this afternoon the papers and duties of his office. Mr. Maynard, can you suggest any service that I can do you?”
“Now, I should say so!” vented overjoyed Hal. “I have been arrested on false charges and a trumped-up paper. Can you not demand to see that document?”
“Certainly,” replied Mr. Gollan. “Come with me.”
Together they stepped before the official who had just condemned Hal to Morro Castle.
“Do you mind my looking at the letter on which this young man’s arrest was ordered?” asked Mr. Gollan.
“Certainly not,” answered the official, at the same time raising the paper from his desk and handing it over.
“Thank you.”
As Gollan ran his eyes over the paper, Hal stood looking on at the spectacle that meant the turning point for his life or death.
Suddenly our hero started, uttered an exclamation of astonishment, and snatched the paper from Mr. Gollan’s hands.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” came impetuously from the boy, “but do you see this other side of the sheet? It is one of Vasquez’s own business letter heads! He has blundered by not looking at the other side of the sheet on which he wrote! It bears out my charge that he trumped up this letter, for, bear in mind, sir, it was he who pretended to find it in my trunk!”
“Car-r-r-r-ramba!” exploded Vasquez, first turning white, next purpling with wrath.
Back went the paper into the police official’s hands.
Senor Vasquez tried to explain; the police official asked a half a dozen questions in a breath, while Captain Tamiva had much to say.
But over all the hubbub arose Consul Gollan’s voice:
“As representative both of the interests of Great Britain and the United States, I ask for the instant release of this prisoner.”
Too disconcerted to speak, the police official could only nod his consent.
Hal felt an arm thrust through his. In a maze he was led down the corridor and into the square.
Then a hearty voice said:
“My young friend, I am very glad to have served you. I would advise you to leave Cuba at once.”
“I intend to,” responded Hal. “I saw an English brig loading at one of the wharves. I think I will try to get passage on her.”
“The Emeline Atwood—a good vessel,” replied Mr. Gollan. “She is bound, too, for Norfolk.”
Then, after much hand-shaking andmany protestations of thanks from Hal, he turned down one of the side streets to the water front.
The narrow thoroughfares appeared deserted. He walked quickly.
“Now, that was stupid of me,” muttered the boy, after going a quarter of a mile. “Why didn’t I think to ask who it was that took word to Mr. Gollan? Could it have been Ramirez?”
“Senor! senor!” whispered a voice through the shutters of a window. “Walk faster, and remember that you are being followed!”
Like a shot Hal halted, trying to catch sight of his informant.
“No, don’t stop! Don’t look this way, or you’ll betray me,” came the whisper. “But hurry! The deadliest danger hovers over you in the next five minutes!”