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“You drive a hard bargain, sir,” he said. “And I have no choice. To-morrow bring the treaty and I will sign.”

Everett at once produced it and a fountain pen.

“I should like to cable to-night,” he urged, “that you have signed. They are holding back the public announcement of the Secretary’s route until hearing from Your Excellency. This is only tentative,” he pointed out; “the Senate must ratify. But our Senate will ratify it, and when you sign now, it is a thing accomplished.”

Over the place at which Everett pointed, the pen scratched harshly; and then, throwing it from him, the President sat in silence. With eyes inflamed by anger and brandy he regarded the treaty venomously. As though loath to let it go, his hands played with it, as a cat plays with the mouse between her paws. Watching him breathlessly, Everett feared the end was not yet. He felt a depressing premonition that if ever the treaty were to reach Washington he best had snatch it and run. Even as he waited, the end came. An orderly, appearing suddenly in the light of the candles, announced the arrival, in the room adjoining, of “the Colonel Goddard and Senor Mellen.” They desired an immediate audience. Their business with the President was most urgent. Whether from Washington their agents had warned them, whether in Camaguay they had deciphered the cablegram from the State Department, Everett could only guess, but he was certain the cause of their visit was the treaty. That Mendoza also believed this was most evident.

Into the darkness, from which the two exiles might emerge, he peered guiltily. With an oath he tore the treaty in half. Crushing the pieces of paper into a ball, he threw it at Everett’s feet. His voice rose to a shriek. It was apparent he intended his words to carry to the men outside. Like an actor on a stage he waved his arms.

“That is my answer!” he shouted. “Tell your Secretary the choice he offers is an insult! It is blackmail. We will not sign his treaty. We do not desire his visit to our country.” Thrilled by his own bravado, his voice rose higher. “Nor,” he shouted, “do we desire the presence of his representative. Your usefulness is at an end. You will receive your passports in the morning.”

As he might discharge a cook, he waved Everett away. His hand, trembling with excitement, closed around the neck of the brandy- bottle. Everett stooped and secured the treaty. On his return to Washington, torn and rumpled as it was, it would be his justification. It was his “Exhibit A.”

As he approached the legation he saw drawn up in front of it three ponies ready saddled. For an instant he wondered if Mendoza intended further to insult him, if he planned that night to send him under guard to the coast. He determined hotly sooner than submit to such an indignity he would fortify the legation, and defend himself. But no such heroics were required of him. As he reached the door, Garland, with an exclamation of relief, hailed him, and Monica, stepping from the shadow, laid an appealing hand upon his sleeve.

“My brother!” she exclaimed. “The guard at Cobre has just sent word that they found Peabody prowling in the ruins and fired on him. He fired back, and he is still there hiding. My brother and others have gone to take him. I don’t know what may happen if he resists. Chester is armed, and he is furious; he is beside himself; he would not listen to me. But he must listen to you. Will you go,” the girl begged, “and speak to him; speak to him, I mean,” she added, “as the American minister?”