Alfarez was dressed immaculately, this time in civilian’s white linen, his ferocious little mustachios carefully pointed, his cheeks freshly shaven and talcumed, his slender feet encased in white canvas shoes.  A wonderful Guayaquil hat, the creamy straws of which were no thicker than silk threads, crowned his sleek, raven locks.  It must have cost a small fortune.  He carried a dapper little cane, with which he tapped his former prisoner to attract his attention.

At sight of him Kirk drew down his brows and said, gruffly: 

“Don’t poke me with that umbrella.”

He turned away, but again Alfarez touched him with the rattan.

“I will spik’ wit’ you, hombre,” he said.

“If you keep jabbing me with that crutch I’ll break it, and then you can’t walk home.”

Ramen jerked his head toward the square outside in an imperious fashion, and Kirk, curious to learn the cause of this unusual excitement, followed him without demur.  When they had reached the street the Spaniard turned with flashing eyes and a mirthless smile.

“Well!” he said, dramatically.

“Pretty well.  How goes it with you?”

“So!  You ’ave socceed in your cowardly attemp’.”

“My what?”

“I am lose my poseetion as Commandante of Police.”

“You don’t say so!” Kirk’s face broke into a smile of real pleasure.

“Ha!  Makes it you to laugh, then?” exclaimed the Panamanian, excitedly.  “Per’aps you shall answer to those detestable actions, senor.”

“Perhaps!  I see you blame me for the loss of your job.  Well, maybe you won’t beat up the next American you get your hands on.”

“Bot—­I ’ave another poseetion!” Ramen exulted.

“Indeed!  Are you ‘behind the ribbons’ at the local Wanamaker’s?”

“I ‘ave been promote!  I am appoint’ yesterday by his Excellency the Presidente to be his secretary.  So!  Those dastardly attack of yours is transpire to my blessing.  It will be always so.”

“I suppose it’s a good job, but you ought to be selling poison in a drug-store.  Did you call me out to hear this news?”

“Si!” Alfarez nodded his head vigorously.  Then, narrowing his eyes, he said, meaningly, in a voice that none might overhear, “Panama is sometimes very on’ealthy city for fat Americans.”  He ran a hostile glance up and down Anthony’s burly frame.  “It is the climate per’aps—­of too great ’eat.”

“In other words, you intend to make it hot for me, eh?”

“I?” The ex-commandant shrugged his shoulders in eloquent denial.  “I shall do not’ing, bot—­if you are wise man you will not display yourself to the dangers of these climate; you will return ’ome.”

“Say!  I’ve a good notion to punch your head.”

Alfarez paled slightly.

“Soch would be most dangerous, for in Chiriqui prison there is at the present some fatal disease.”  He laughed sneeringly.  “The senor is reech man’s son, eh?  Those do not geeve the appearance.”