that middle-aged gentleman who seems to be pressing close in on the
flank of the crowd. There, see, he is speaking to Manuel, our purser,
now, asking him some question. He looks up here at us; yes, and waves
his hand, with a smile! That must be Señor José, all right, Frank."

"I'm going down to meet him, to fetch him aboard," declared Frank, after
both boys had answered the signals of the dark-faced gentleman in the
white linen suit, and who was also wearing a Panama straw hat.

Three minutes later and Frank reappeared, having the other in tow.

Just as both of them had suspected it was Señor José. Receiving their
communication from Maracaibo, he had been on the watch.

"And he tells me, Andy, that there has been no new development since he
wrote. So that fear of yours must be set at rest. Just depend on it,
we're in this game to win out, and your dear father is going to be
found," Frank went on.

Presently they were deep in conversation. The boys found Señor José a
very intelligent gentleman indeed. He had spent some years in Washington
in connection with the embassy of his government, so that he not only
spoke and wrote English well, but had a high opinion of Americans;
something that the vast majority of his fellow-countrymen failed to
acquire, being possibly fed on stories that may have had their inception
in German or English trade sources.

From him Frank extracted all the information he could concerning the
wonderful country lying between Magangue and the Isthmus of Panama,
covering possibly some three hundred miles. It was little enough. Most