We found the conspirators at a table in a corridor of the first-class quarantine station.  In the words of Lieutenant Long “they fully looked the part,” being of distinctly merciless cut of jib.  They were roughly dressed and without collars, convincing proof of some nefarious design, for when the Latin-American entitled to wear them leaves off his white collar and his cane he must be desperate indeed.

We “braced” them at once, marching down upon them as they were murmuring with heads together over a mass of typewritten sheets.  The Corporal was delegated to inform them in his most urbane and hidalguezco Castilian that we were well acquainted with their errand and that we were come to frustrate by any legitimate means in our power the consummation of any such project on American territory.  When the first paralyzed stare of astonishment that plans they had fancied locked in their own breasts were known to others had somewhat subsided, one of them assumed the spokesmanship.  In just as courtly and superabundant language he replied that they were only too well aware of the inadvisability of carrying out any act against its sovereignty on U. S. soil; that so long as they were on American territory they would conduct themselves in a most circumspect and caballeroso manner—­“but,” he concluded, “in the most public street of Panama city the first time we meet those three dogs—­we shall spit in their faces—­ that’s all, nada mas,” and the blazing eyes announced all too plainly what he meant by that figure of speech.

That was all very well, was our smiling and urbane reply, but to be on the safe side and merely as a matter of custom we were under the unfortunate necessity of requesting them to submit to the annoyance of having their baggage and persons examined with a view to discovering what weapons—­

“Como no senores?  All the examination you desire.”  Which was exceedingly kind of them.  Whereupon, when the Lieutenant had interpreted to me their permission, we fell upon them and amid countless expressions of mutual esteem gave them and their baggage such a “frisking” as befalls a Kaffir leaving a South African diamond mine, and found them armed with—­a receipt from the quarantine doctor for “one pearl-handled Smill and Wilson No. 32.”  Either they really intended to postpone their little affair until they reached Panama, or they had succeeded in concealing their weapons elsewhere.

The doctor and his assistant were already being rowed out to the steamer that was to bring the victims.  They were to be lodged in a room across the corridor from the conspirators, which corridor it would be our simple duty to patrol with a view to intercepting any exchange of stray lead.  We fell to planning such division of the twenty-four hours as should give me the most talkative period.  The Lieutenant took the trouble further to convince the trio of my total ignorance of Spanish by a distinct and elaborate explanation, in English, of the difference between the words “muchacho” and “muchacha.”  Then we wandered down past the grimy steerage station to the shore end of the little wharf to await the doctor and our proteges.