[Illustration: "Schnitzel, you certainly are a magnificent liar"]

As I watched the yellow wall sink into the sea, I became conscious that
Schnitzel was near me, as before, leaning on the rail, with his chin
sunk on his arms. His face was turned toward the fortress, and for the
first time since I had known him it was set and serious. And when, a
moment later, he passed me without recognition, I saw that his eyes were
filled with fear.

When we touched at Curaçoa I sent a cable to my sister, announcing the
date of my arrival, and then continued on to the Hotel Venezuela. Almost
immediately Schnitzel joined me. With easy carelessness he said: "I was
in the cable office just now, sending off a wire, and that operator told
me he can't make head or tail of the third word in your cable."

"That is strange," I commented, "because it's a French word, and he is
French. That's why I wrote it in French."

With the air of one who nails another in a falsehood, Schnitzel
exclaimed:

"Then, how did you suppose your sister was going to read it? It's a
cipher, that's what it is. Oh, no, _you're_ not on a secret mission! Not
at all!"

It was most undignified of me, but in five minutes I excused myself, and
sent to the State Department the following words:

"Roses red, violets blue, send snow."