“It’s from Evarts,” said the president, looking up with a quiet laugh.  “He commands me to come to him at once, in his cell, and to arrange some way of getting out.  My man,” turning to the messenger, “are you going back to Evarts?”

“Yes,” nodded the messenger, shifting his weight from one foot to another.

“Go back to Evarts, then, and tell him that he’ll have to threaten some one else this time.  Tell him that I am through with him.”

“Huh!” growled the hang-dog messenger.  “I believe Evarts said that, if old Bascomb wasn’t quick, he’d make trouble for some one.”

“Tell Evarts,” said Mr. Prenter, “that he can’t make trouble for any one but himself, and that he had better save his breath for the next time he needs it.”

“Evarts will be awful mad, if I go back to him with any talk like that,” insinuated the messenger meaningly.

“See here, fellow,” interjected.  Tom Reade, stepping forward quickly, “I’m rather tired and out of condition to-night, but if you don’t leave here as fast as you can go, I’ll kick you every step of the way for the first half-mile back to Blixton!  Do you think you understand me?”

“I—–­I reckon I do,” admitted the fellow.

“Then start before you tempt my right foot!  I’ll give you five seconds to get off.”

There could be no mistaking that order.  The messenger started off, nor did he glance backward as long as he was in sight.

“You see how easily a chap like Evarts can be disposed of,” smiled Mr. Prenter.

“He’ll send back again for another try, within an hour,” prophesied Mr. Bascomb, wearily.

“If he does,” laughed Dick Prescott, shortly, “his second appeal won’t come by the same messenger.”

“Then you were near us, Mr. Prenter, when Evarts and the negro charged us?” Tom inquired.

“I was,” smiled the treasurer.  “That convicts me of cowardice, doesn’t it, in not having come to your aid at the moment of attack?  I wasn’t quite as big a coward as I would seem, though.  The truth is, I was behind you.  Had I jumped in in that exciting moment, you would have thought other enemies were attacking from behind.  You would have been confused and would have lost the fight.”

“By Jove, sir, but that was quick thinking and shrewdness on your part!” ejaculated Dick Prescott.

“Then you acquit me of cowardice?”

“No,” smiled the young army officer, “for I hadn’t thought of accusing you of lack of courage.”

“I am glad you didn’t,” sighed the treasurer.  “I would rather be suspected of almost anything than of lacking manly courage.  Afterwards I didn’t make my presence known to you, for, at that time, I didn’t want you to know that I had overheard a certain conversation.”

“My cowardice has made a dreadful mess of things in a lot of ways, hasn’t it?” demanded Mr. Bascomb bitterly.

“That’s all past now, so it doesn’t matter,” spoke up Tom Reade.  “We have just one move more to make in this baffling game, and then I fancy we shall have won.  When Mr. Sambo Ebony, as I have nicknamed him, is safely jailed I think we shall find ourselves undisturbed in the future.  We shall then be permitted to go ahead and finish the million-dollar breakwater as a work and a triumph of peace.”