The commandant’s eyes flashed as he asked, shortly.  “W’at is your name?”

“Anthony.  Your men tried to kill that boy, and when I wouldn’t stand for it they beat me up.”

“You strock me wit’ the water of the ’ose-carriage,” repeated the other.  “You ’ave assault the dignity of my country.”

“I didn’t know who you were.  I was helping to stop that fire when you butted in.  Now, are you going to let me out, or do you want my people to pull this jail down around your ears?”

At this threat Senor Alfarez restrained his rage with an obvious effort.  “You will reply to those outrage, senor.”

“Sure, I’ll reply.  But in the mean time I want to telephone to the American consul.  Look at this!” The young man held out his shaking, swollen wrists, upon which the blood was scarcely dry.  “Look at it!  Those runts of yours got handcuffs on me and then beat me up.  I’m sick.  So’s that boy.  We need a doctor.”

Alfarez shook his head.  “You resis’ the police.  Even in your country one mus’ not do that.  ’Ave I been there, I would keel you both, but I am ’aving a cheel at the moment from those stream of col’ water.”

“Will you take me to a telephone?”

“It is not permit.”

“Will you notify Mr. Weeks?”

Receiving no reply to this request, Kirk broke out:  “Well, then, what are you going to do?  Let us stay here all night?”

“W’at is your bizness?”

“I haven’t any.”

“You don’ work on the Canal?”

“No.  I’m a tourist.  My father is a big railroad man in the States.  I’m telling you this so you’ll know how to act.”

“W’ere do you leeve—­w’at ’otel?”

“I’ve been stopping with Mr. Weeks.”

Senor Alfarez’s attitude became somewhat less overbearing.

“In due time he will be notify of your outrage to my person,” he announced.

The fellow who had left the room a moment before now reappeared, carrying a bucket of water and some towels, with which he directed Allan to remove the blood from his face and hands.  When it came Kirk’s turn, however, he objected.

“I think I’ll wait until Weeks sees me,” he said.

But Alfarez retorted, sharply:  “It is not permit”; and, seeing that resistance would be useless, Kirk acquiesced as gracefully as he could, remarking as he did so: 

“You’ll have hard work washing off this, and this.”  He indicated the traces of the handcuffs and the gash in his scalp.

The commandant turned to his men and addressed them at some length, calling them to task, as Allan later informed his companion, for using their clubs in a manner to mark their prisoners so conspicuously.  Then he followed them into the corridor, closing the grating behind him.