“Indeed?  May I ask of what you suspect me?” Johnnie was genuinely interested.

The general spoke with force and gravity:  “Mr. O’Reilly, I believe you to be a far greater menace to the interests of my country than—­well, than a score of dynamite experts.  I believe you are a writer.”

The American smiled.  “Are writers such dangerous people?”

“That altogether depends upon circumstances.  The United States is inclined to recognize the belligerency of these Cuban rebels, and her relations with Spain are becoming daily more strained; ill-feeling grows, and all because of the exaggerations, the mendacities, that have gone forth from here to your newspapers.  We are determined to put down this uprising in our own way; we will tolerate no foreign interference.  War is never a pleasant thing, but you journalists have magnified its horrors and misrepresented the cause of Spain until you, threaten to bring on another and a more horrible combat.  Now then, you understand what I mean when I say that you are more dangerous than a powder expert; that your pen can do more injury, can cause the death of more Spanish troops than could a regiment of Americans with dynamite.  Your English friend makes no secret of his business, so we shall escort him to Neuvitas and see him safely out of the country, once for all.”

“And yet you permit me to remain?” Johnnie was surprised.

“For the present, yes!  That is my official message to you.  Privately, however”—­the speaker eyed O’Reilly with a disconcerting expression—­“I would like to warn you.  You are a bright fellow, and you have a way with you—­there’s no denying it.  Under other conditions it would be a pleasure to know you better.  It grieves me, therefore, to warn you that your further stay in Cuba will not be—­pleasant.  I almost regret that there is no conclusive evidence against you; it would so simplify matters.  Come now, hadn’t you better acknowledge that I have guessed your secret?”

O’Reilly’s perplexity was, changing to dismay, for it seemed to him he was being played with; nevertheless, he shook his head.  “I would only be deceiving you, sir,” he said.

General Antuna sighed.  “Then I see embarrassments ahead for both of us.”

“More arrests?”

“Not necessarily.  Understand me, I speak as one gentleman to another, but—­you must have noticed that Americans are unpopular with our troops.  Eh?  They are impulsive, these troopers; accidents cannot be prevented.  Suppose something should happen to you?  There is the trouble.  You came to Cuba to enjoy its climate; you cannot be expected to remain indoors.  Of course not.  Well!  Among our soldiers are many new recruits, patriotic, enthusiastic young fellows, but—­careless.  They are wretchedly unproficient marksmen, and they haven’t learned the dangers of promiscuous rifle fire.  They are forever shooting at things, merely to score a hit.  Would you believe it?  Oh, I have to discipline them frequently.  To think of you going abroad through the streets, therefore, worries me intensely.”