There was nothing martial about the atmosphere of the Junta's
offices; there were no war maps on the walls, no stands of arms
nor recruiting officers in evidence--not even a hint of intrigue
or conspiracy. The place was rather meanly furnished, and it was
disappointingly commonplace. A business-like young man inquired
O'Reilly's errand.

Johnnie made known a part of it, and then asked to see some one in
authority. In consequence, perhaps, of his Irish smile or of that
persuasiveness which he could render almost irresistible when he
willed, it was not long before he gained admittance to the
presence of Mr. Enriquez, a distinguished, scholarly Cuban of
middle age.

"You say you have important business with me?" the latter
inquired, speaking with an accent of refinement.

O'Reilly plunged boldly into the heart of the matter which had
brought him thither. When he had finished his tale Mr. Enriquez
inquired:

"But how do you expect me to help you?"

"I want your advice more than your help, although you might tell
me where I can find Colonel Lopez."

Enriquez eyed his caller keenly. "That information would be very
well worth having," said he. "But, you understand, we know little
about what is going on in Cuba--far less than the Spaniards
themselves. I'm afraid I can't help you."