TRAPPED IN OLD PANAMA
"Are you going to report what I found out—that the commissary stores were smuggled on board the Juan Lopez?" asked Walter.
Before Captain Brincker could answer, there came from behind the palms at the other side of the patio the screeching voice of a parrot:
"Viva Panama. Pobre Colombia. Ha! Ha!"
Walter jumped from his chair. His cheek was quite pale. He had heard this parrot before. It belonged to General Quesada, who must be the mysterious employer. Standing in a door-way opening from another part of the house was the gross, shapeless figure of General Quesada himself, the parrot cage in his hand. With him was the slouchy young man from Balboa wharf. Before crossing the patio they had halted in time to hear Walter's unfortunate question.
The checker repeated it in Spanish, and General Quesada comprehended that the young seaman of the Saragossa who hammered him with a broom-stick had now discovered the plot to rob the American government of supplies for the filibustering expedition.
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