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As Hanley had been talking, the face of the consul had grown grave. He accepted the paper, but did not look at it. Instead, he regarded the senator with troubled eyes. When he spoke, his tone was one of genuine concern.

“It is most unfortunate,” he said. “But I am afraid the ROYAL MAIL will not take you on board. Because of Las Bocas,” he explained. “If we had only known!” he added remorsefully. “It is MOST unfortunate.”

“Because of Las Bocas?” echoed Hanley.

“You don’t mean they’ll refuse to take me to Jamaica because I spent half an hour at the end of a wharf listening to a squeaky gramophone?”

“The trouble,” explained Marshall, “is this: if they carried you, all the other passengers would be held in quarantine for ten days, and there are fines to pay, and there would be difficulties over the mails. But,” he added hopefully, “maybe the regulations have been altered. I will see her captain, and tell him—-“

“See her captain!” objected Hanley. “Why see the captain? He doesn’t know I’ve been to that place. Why tell him? All I need is a clean bill of health from you. That’s all HE wants. You have only to sign that paper.” Marshall regarded the senator with surprise.

“But I can’t,” he said.

“You can’t? Why not?”

“Because it certifies to the fact that you have not visited Las Bocas. Unfortunately, you have visited Las Bocas.”

The senator had been walking up and down the room. Now he seated himself, and stared at Marshall curiously.

“It’s like this, Mr. Marshall,” he began quietly. “The President desires my presence in Washington, thinks I can be of some use to him there in helping carry out certain party measures–measures to which he pledged himself before his election. Down here, a British steamship line has laid down local rules which, in my case anyway, are ridiculous. The question is, are you going to be bound by the red tape of a ha’penny British colony, or by your oath to the President of the United States?”

The sophistry amused Marshall. He smiled good-naturedly and shook his head.

“I’m afraid, Senator,” he said, “that way of putting it is hardly fair. Unfortunately, the question is one of fact. I will explain to the captain—-“

“You will explain nothing to the captain!” interrupted Hanley. “This is a matter which concerns no one but our two selves. I am not asking favors of steamboat captains. I am asking an American consul to assist an American citizen in trouble, and,” he added, with heavy sarcasm, “incidentally, to carry out the wishes of his President.”

Marshall regarded the senator with an expression of both surprise and disbelief.

“Are you asking me to put my name to what is not so?” he said. “Are you serious?”

“That paper, Mr. Marshall,” returned Hanley steadily, “is a mere form, a piece of red tape. There’s no more danger of my carrying the plague to Jamaica than of my carrying a dynamite bomb. You KNOW that.”

“I DO know that,” assented Marshall heartily. “I appreciate your position, and I regret it exceedingly. You are the innocent victim of a regulation which is a wise regulation, but which is most unfair to you. My own position,” he added, “is not important, but you can believe me, it is not easy. It is certainly no pleasure for me to be unable to help you.”

Hanley was leaning forward, his hands on his knees, his eyes watching Marshall closely. “Then you refuse?” he said. “Why?”

Marshall regarded the senator steadily. His manner was untroubled. The look he turned upon Hanley was one of grave disapproval.

“You know why,” he answered quietly. “It is impossible.”

In sudden anger Hanley rose. Marshall, who had been seated behind his desk, also rose. For a moment, in silence, the two men confronted each other. Then Hanley spoke; his tone was harsh and threatening.

“Then I am to understand,” he exclaimed, “that you refuse to carry out the wishes of a United States Senator and of the President of the United States?”