soul would merely offend his feelings and his intelligence.

So, with much mystery, I asked him to describe the "situation," and he
did so with the exactness of one who believes that within an hour every
word he speaks will be cabled to the White House.

When I was leaving he said: "Oh, there's a newspaper correspondent after
you. He wants an interview, I guess. He followed you last night from the
capital by train. You want to watch out he don't catch you. His name is
Jones." I promised to be on my guard against a man named Jones, and
the consul escorted me to the ship. As he went down the accommodation
ladder, I called over the rail: "In case they SHOULD declare war, cable
to Curacoa, and I'll come back. And don't cable anything indefinite,
like 'Situation critical' or 'War imminent.' Understand? Cable me, 'Come
back' or 'Go ahead.' But whatever you cable, make it CLEAR."

He shook his head violently and with his green-lined umbrella pointed at
my elbow. I turned and found a young man hungrily listening to my words.
He was leaning on the rail with his chin on his arms and the brim of his
Panama hat drawn down to conceal his eyes.

On the pier-head, from which we now were drawing rapidly away, the
consul made a megaphone of his hands.

"That's HIM," he called. "That's Jones."

Jones raised his head, and I saw that the tropical heat had made Jones
thirsty, or that with friends he had been celebrating his departure. He
winked at me, and, apparently with pleasure at his own discernment and
with pity for me, smiled.