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“I see.” The foreigner drummed impatiently on the table. “You were late in keeping your appointment.”

“I had the devil’s own time in finding this dive,” returned the younger man, and, as he moved his chair half around, the inquisitive stranger, peeping through the leaves of the vine, obtained a view of the speaker’s boyish face. The weak mouth was partly hidden by a short black mustache; the features were well cut, and by some would have been called handsome.

The older man gave vent to a half-smothered chuckle. “Goethals and Gorgas have reformed the Canal Zone, and the local government is trying to do the same with Panama, but, por Dios, drinking and gambling continue unnoticed in Colon,” he said, dryly. “I find a room in this house most convenient during my short visits here. No ‘gringo’,” he sneered, “dare show his face in this room.”

The stranger settled down in his chair, which was wedged into the corner formed by the wall of the room and the wood and glass partition, until his head was screened from the two speakers by the thick foliage of the vine. The Spaniard and the Jamaican, who had occupied the table nearest him, had gone, and the few men who still lingered over their wine at the farther end of the room paid no attention to him. He could listen without being observed.