were no Coralians, those two.

Goodwin followed at increased speed, but without any of the artful
tactics that are so dear to the heart of the sleuth. The American
was too broad to feel the instinct of the detective. He stood as
an agent for the people of Anchuria, and but for political reasons
he would have demanded then and there the money. It was the design
of his party to secure the imperilled fund, to restore it to the
treasury of the country, and to declare itself in power without
bloodshed or resistance.

The couple halted at the door of the Hotel de los Extranjeros,
and the man struck upon the wood with the impatience of one unused
to his entry being stayed. Madama was long in response, but after
a time her light showed, the door was opened, and the guests housed.

Goodwin stoodin the quiet street, lighting another cigar. In
two minutes, a faint gleam began to show between the slats of the
jalousies in the upper story of the hotel. "They have engaged rooms,"
said Goodwin to himself. "So, then, their arrangements for sailing
have yet to be made."

At the moment there came along one Esteban Delgado, a barber,
an enemy to existing government, a jovial plotter against stagnation
in any form. This barber was one of Coralio's saddest dogs, often
remaining out of doors as late as eleven, post meridian. He was
a partisan Liberal; and he greeted Goodwin with flatulent importance
as a brother in the cause. But he had something important to tell.

"What think you, Don Frank!" he cried, in the universal tone of the