JACK DEVLIN IN ACTION
by brevet to him. It will do no harm to look into this thing. I am just naturally suspicious of Panamanians in general and of Quesada in particular. Good-by, Doc. I'll keep you posted."
They were lucky enough to find a cab in the hospital grounds and, as the cochero plied the whip, Alfaro added the details of his meeting with Goodwin on the wharf. Devlin listened grimly. He had become taciturn. He was no longer the jovial, swaggering steam-shovel man bragging of the prowess of "old Twenty-six" but a two-fisted American of the frontier breed, schooled to think and to act in tight places.
"I intend to get into General Quesada's house and look his game over," said he.
"But he has a revolver. He tried to kill me with it," cried Alfaro.
"Pshaw, I never found one of you Spanish-Americans that could shoot straight," was the impolite comment.
They left the cab at the nearest corner. Devlin strode ahead, Alfaro peering warily about for unfriendly policemen of the Panama
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