the quiet. It would pay ’em, for if there is plague here, he’ll certainly trail it down.” 

 “Oh, I’m tired of plague,” announced Miss Polly. “Bring the others here and let’s all go over to the plaza, where it’s cool.” 

 To their open and obvious delight, exhibited jauntily by the Englishman, with awkward and admiring respectfulness by the ball-player, and with graceful ease by the handsome Caracuñan, the rest were invited to join the party. 

 “Don’t let them scare you about plague, Miss Brewster,” said Cluff, as they found their chairs. “Foreigners don’t get it much.” 

 “Oh, I’m not afraid! But, anyway, we shouldn’t have time to catch even a cold. We leave to-morrow.” 

 The men exchanged glances. 

 “How?” inquired Sherwen and Raimonda in a breath. 

 “In the yacht, from Puerto del Norte.” 

 “Not if it were a British battleship,” said Galpy. “Port’s closed.” 

 “What? Quarantine already?” said Carroll. 

 “Quarantine be blowed! It’s the Dutch.” 

 “I thought you knew,” said Sherwen. “All the town is ringing with the news. It just came in to-night. Holland has declared a blockade until Caracuña apologizes for the interference with its cable.” 

 “And nothing can pass?” asked Mr. Brewster. 

 “Nothing but an aeroplane or a submarine.” 

 There was a silence. Miss Polly Brewster broke it with a curious question:— 

 “What day is day after to-morrow?” 

 Several voices had answered her, but she paid little heed, for there had slipped over her shoulder a brown thin hand holding a cunningly woven closed basket of reedwork. A soft voice murmured something in Spanish. 

 “What does he say?” asked the girl “For me?” 

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