Palace the Isthmian Line would drive him out of it in a week. But that
if he'd go away from the country, they'd pay him fifty thousand pesos
and a pension. He's got the Isthmian Line's promise in writing.

"This joint attack he's planned for Wednesday night is a fake. He
doesn't mean to fight. Nobody means to fight except against you. Every
soldier and every gun in the city is to be sent out to Pecachua to
trap you into an ambush. Natives who pretend to have deserted from
Alvarez are to lead you into it. That was an idea of mine. They
thought it was very clever. Garcia is to make a pretence of attacking
the bridge and a pretence of being driven back. Then messengers are to
bring word that the Foreign Legion has been cut to pieces at Pecachua,
and he is to disband his army, and tell every man to look out for
himself.

"If you want proofs of this, I'll furnish them to any man here that
you'll pick out. I told Alvarez that one of your officers was working
against you with me, and that at the proper time I'd produce him. Now,
you choose which officer that shall be. He can learn for himself that
all I'm telling you is true. But that will take time!" Aiken cried, as
Laguerre made a movement to interrupt him. "And if you want to get out
of this fix alive, you'd better believe me, and start for the coast at
once--now--to-night!"

Laguerre laughed and sprang to his feet. His eyes were shining and the
color had rushed to his cheeks. He looked like a young man
masquerading in a white wig. He waved his hand at Aiken with a gesture
that was part benediction and part salute.

"I do believe you," he cried, "and thank you, sir." He glanced sharply