"Finally, however, I again took up my residence in Cuba, and for a time
all went well, and might have continued to do so, but for the following
incident. One night, being troubled by insomnia--sleeplessness--and the
heat, I walked out on to the balcony in front of my bedroom window. As
I did so, a figure which had been--you say lurking?--somewhere under
the veranda ran swiftly off; but not so swiftly that I failed to obtain
a glimpse of the uplifted face.

"It was the big negro! Although many years had elapsed since I had seen
him wearing the bat wings at those unholy rites, I knew him instantly.

"On a little table close behind me where I stood lay a loaded revolver.
I snatched it in a flash and fired shot after shot at the retreating
figure."

Colonel Menendez shrugged his shoulders and selected a fresh cigarette
paper.

"Gentlemen," he continued, "from that moment until this I have gone in
hourly peril of my life. Whether I hit my man or missed him, I have
never known to this day. If he lives or is dead I cannot say. But--" he
paused impressively--"I have told you of something that was nailed to
the hut of a certain native girl? Before she died I knew that it was a
death-token.

"On the morning after the episode which I have just related attached to
the main door of the hacienda was found that same token."

"And it was??" said Harley, eagerly.