The door between the two rooms was closed. That into the patio was ajar. Will stole across the room and peeped into the patio. A small lamp was burning at the farther end, near the front door. A man sat dozing on a chair outside De Mello's room, which was no doubt occupied by CarabaÑo. Another lay fast asleep on the floor at the patio door of Machado's room. But for these the patio was empty. To enter it seemed too risky; Will stepped back into the cloak-room and listened at the door of communication. There was no sound. He waited, pressing his ear against the door. Now he heard slight snores: somebody was in the farther room, asleep. He gently tried the handle. The door was not locked. Grasping his revolver, Azito having his machete, he quickly opened the door and went in. Machado was asleep on a long cane chair. The telegraphic instrument stood on a table at his left hand. Will softly closed the door behind him, and motioned to Azito to stand at the door opening into the patio. A clock on a shelf told the hour: it was five minutes past eleven.

Machado was fast asleep and did not stir. Was it possible to wake him without causing him to cry out or make some sound that would alarm the men in the patio? Will went to the foot of the cane chair, and pointing his revolver full at Machado's head, he gently touched him. The man moved uneasily. Will touched him again. He drew up his legs slightly. Another touch, and his eyes opened. For a moment Will thought that the shock would itself force a cry from him, but at a warning hiss his jaw dropped, and a look of terror distorted his face as he saw the shining barrel of the revolver within two feet of his eyes. With a gesture of warning Will allowed him a few seconds to collect himself: then in tones so low that they could scarcely have been heard outside he said--

"You are awake?"

Machado's swarthy face had gone grey with fear. He did not reply.

"It depends on yourself whether you awake again. Do as I bid you and your life is safe. At the least sign of treachery I shoot you like a dog. You understand?"

Machado's lips moved, but no sound came from them.

"I have some questions to ask," Will continued rapidly, but in the same quiet tone. "If your answers are contrary to what I know to be fact you are a dead man. Where is SeÑor Jackson?"

"At Las Piedras," said the man in a whisper.

Will started. This was the name of General CarabaÑo's hacienda nearly fifty miles away.

"What is to be done with him and SeÑor O'Connor?"

"They are held at ransom."

"And if ransom is refused?"

"Then they will be shot."

"How do you know?"

"The General says so."

"Will he keep his word?"

"Yes."

"How do you know?"

"He has sworn it."

"When is it to be?"

"To-morrow."

"Why are you here?"

"I am waiting."

"What for?"

"A message."

"From where?"

"Ciudad Bolivar."

"What message?"

"A reply."

"What?"

"To the General's."

"What was his message?"

"If the ransom is not promised by midnight the prisoners will be shot to-morrow."

"Has he had no message before?"

"Yes."

"What was it?"

"The President refused to pay a ransom."

"The General repeated his demand?"

"Yes."

"Does he expect consent?"

"No; it is a last attempt."

"You are speaking the truth?"

"Yes."

There was no doubt of it. The man's terror was so evident that he would scarcely have had the wits to invent a falsehood. Nor could he know what information Will already had. His answers indeed gave Will nothing of which he was not already aware, except the whereabouts of the prisoners.

Will stood for a moment thinking, still pointing his revolver at the abject Spaniard. A desperate scheme had suggested itself. He had already risked much: was it not possible to risk still more? His task with Machado had been unexpectedly easy: might not a greater task prove feasible? It was clear that unless the ransom was agreed to by the time stated, the fate of the prisoners was sealed. It was clear also from what the Jefe at Bolivar had told him that there was not the slightest likelihood of the Government yielding on this point. He knew roughly the direction of General CarabaÑo's hacienda, but recognized how little chance there was of doing anything to help his friends. He could not reach them during the night: the journey was long and dangerous. There remained, as it seemed, one chance: that of intercepting the General's messenger in the morning. He asked another question.

"If the reply from Ciudad Bolivar is unsatisfactory, the General will send a messenger to Las Piedras?"

"He will go himself."

The answer disposed of Will's last hope. The only means of saving the prisoners was to deal with the General himself. It was a desperate game to play in the midst of a hostile camp, but his first move, with Machado, had been successful, and the man was so cowed and terror-stricken that he might prove a serviceable instrument in the larger scheme. Time was running short; it was a quarter past eleven. Will made up his mind to risk all.

"Dismiss the man at your door," he said. "Tell him that you need him no longer. You will take the message to the General yourself. Attempt no treachery. I will keep my word."

He motioned to Azito, of whose presence Machado seemed to become aware for the first time, to stand behind a clothes-press near the camp-bed.

"Open the door only a few inches," he continued. "Now!"

He stepped behind the door, allowing room for it to open about twelve inches. He could not be seen by the man in the patio, but was able to cover Machado with his revolver. The telegraphist lay for a few moments as though hesitating.

"Quick!" said Will in a fierce whisper.

Machado rose unsteadily and, walking to the door, opened it. In a low voice he called to the sleeping man. There was no reply or movement.

"Kick him!" whispered Will.

Machado touched the man with his foot. He started up. Machado gave him the instruction Will had dictated, and he went off at once, glad enough, no doubt, to find a more comfortable bed. When he was gone, Will closed the door.

"Now, the password," he said.

"Bolivar," replied Machado.

But Will marked a slight hesitation before the answer was given.

"Are you sure?" he said fiercely. "A mistake will cost you dear."

"A slip, seÑor," said Machado, quailing. "Bolivar was last night's password: to-night's is Libertad."

"Make no more slips. Now go to your table."

On the table, close to the instrument, lay a number of telegram forms plundered from the railway, and a pencil. Pointing to these, Will said--

"Write what I say. 'Release prisoners: will send----' Stop there, and add, 'Message interrupted.'"

Machado wrote the words. His fingers trembled so violently that the strokes were like those of an old man. Then Will, telling Azito to stand over Machado with his knife and to kill him if he moved, he turned the handle at the side of the instrument that switched off the current, and worked the operating handle for half-a-minute. The clicks could be distinctly heard in the patio, but the current being switched off, no effect was produced at the other end of the wire.

Giving the telegraph form to Machado, he said--

"Where does the General sleep?"

"In a room on the other side of the patio, near the door."

"The man outside the door is an orderly?"

"Yes, seÑor."

"You will take this slip and hand it to the orderly. Say you must hurry back, and return here."

Will thought he detected a gleam of relief and hope in the man's eyes. But if Machado fancied he saw a chance of escape, he was disappointed by the next words.

"I shall stand near this door, with my revolver. It has six chambers. Beware how you hurry or stumble. If you delay one instant longer than is required to repeat what I have said----"

He looked significantly into Machado's eyes. The man opened the door and went along the patio. Once he half turned, as if to see whether he was watched, but thought better of it and went on: it was nervous work, walking with a revolver pointed at his back. He reached the door, handed the slip to the orderly, said a few words, and returned at once. Will saw the orderly knock at the General's door, and just as Machado came into the room, the General called to the man to enter.

Will closed the door. There was no time to be lost if the effect of the message was what he hoped it would be. The clock said twenty minutes to twelve.

"Sit in your chair," he said to Machado, "and occupy yourself with your instrument. Make believe that you are sending a message and awaiting the answer."

Machado sat as directed, with his back to the door. Then Will took Azito's knife and cut down the cord that drew the jalousies across the window.

"Tie his legs to the chair," he said to the Indian, adding to Machado: "You will suffer no harm if you do not resist. Work the instrument."

Will was now in a fever of uncertainty and apprehension. Would the fish rise to the bait? He knew the cupidity of the Liberator. If he was the man Will believed him to be, he would not wait to receive the completed message in writing, but would come across the patio to be at hand when the instrument spelled out the words promising the addition of 60,000 pesos to his chest. There was one thing to fear: that he would not come alone. He might waken his lieutenants on the way; then the game would be up. But Will reflected that a refusal had already come from Bolivar. Probably neither General CarabaÑo nor any of his officers expected a favourable reply, otherwise they would not all have gone to bed. Machado had been left on the chance of the Government relenting, and he had done his duty, the General would think.

For a few moments there was no sign. Will began to fear that the trap would not work. He said a few words to Azito, who tore a long strip from the bottom of the curtain and rolled it up. The instrument clicked on, Machado never turning his head, but looking out of the corners of his eyes. At last there was a footfall along the patio. Will slipped behind the door. Immediately afterwards it was burst open.

"Well, what do they say?"

General CarabaÑo took two strides into the room. Noiselessly closing the door with his foot, Will sprang to the Liberator, threw his arms in a strangling embrace about his neck, and pulled him backwards to the floor. The General struggled and spluttered, half-choked. He was a powerful man, and in a wrestling match on even terms Will would have come off badly. But while the General was striving to regain his footing Azito glided from his place of concealment, forced a gag between his teeth and helped Will to bear him to the floor. Then, while Will held him firmly, the Indian deftly bound his arms and feet with the remainder of the cord. By the time this was done the General was black in the face with his frantic efforts to rise and to cry out. Meanwhile Machado, who had stopped the clicking when he heard the General enter, had watched with a look of horror all that went on. He dared not raise his voice, knowing full well that before he could release himself one or other of these desperate visitors would be free to deal with him.

The Liberator of Venezuela was now in bonds. There had been so little sound that the orderly at the farther end of the patio could have heard nothing. The other officers in the house were asleep. If only Fortune would smile a little longer, Will felt that the game would be absolutely in his hands.

Bidding Azito keep guard over the General, prostrate on the floor, Will went to the chair and released Machado.

"Stand up, seÑor," he said. "I have to ask a little more of you, and so long as you do exactly as I tell you, you will come to no harm from me."

"I had no hand in this, Excellency," the unhappy man blurted out, addressing the General.

"Silence!" said Will. "I will make that clear. You shall be released presently beyond the reach of General CarabaÑo or any of his officers. You shall not suffer for double treachery. Stand still!"

He quickly tied Machado's ankles together with a short piece of cord, so that he could walk but not run.

"Now listen very carefully. We are going to pass out of the camp. We shall probably come to the front of the house. The sentry will challenge you. You will give the password, and your name. He will ask you what we are carrying. You will say: 'His Excellency sends a spy to feed the caymans.' Say it now."

"But--but--" stammered the man, "you will not----"

"No, I shall not harm his Excellency. Repeat what I said."

"'His Excellency sends a spy to feed the caymans,'" said Machado.

"That is right. The sentry may ask questions. You must answer him: say what you please, but do not play me false. The sentry may wish to see the spy. You must keep him off. If you cannot do so, so much the worse for you. You cannot run, you are unarmed--I will make sure of that; and if you attempt to give the alarm be sure that you, at any rate, will not escape. You understand? Your safety depends on ours. And it will be well to remember, too, that if we fail, nobody will believe all this was done without your connivance. Is it clear?"

"Yes, seÑor," murmured the man.

Will searched his pockets for arms. He had none. But he shot a momentary glance towards a long cape hanging from a peg on the wall. Will saw the glance, and feeling the garment, discovered a revolver. This he put in his pocket. Then, opening the door into the adjoining cloak-room, he ordered Machado to take the General's head and Azito the legs. The General writhed and heaved, until Will slipped under his knees a short board that held his legs stiff. The two men lifted him. When they stood in the doorway Will turned out the light. Then he bade them carry their bulky burden into the next room.

From the window Will saw that the camp was in utter darkness. No lights from the back of the house shone upon the ground. He opened both leaves of the window and passed on to the veranda. The others followed him slowly as he made his way to the right-hand corner. There he stopped and peeped round. The stables were opposite this face of the house, and a light shone upon them from the General's bedroom. It would be unsafe to pass that way. They must descend from the veranda, cross a few yards of ground, and come to the rear of the stables. Between these and the last of the line of tents, on this side, there was a gap of perhaps fifteen yards. Will listened for the footfall of a sentry. All was silent save slight sounds from the stables: probably the man was asleep. Bidding the others follow him he went down the steps and walked on. It was very dark: their forms could scarcely have been seen if the sentry had been alert.

They came to the back of the stables, and, striking to the right, reached the end of the wall. Here they halted for a moment, while Will glanced around. A light through the open door of the house was reflected on the surface of the lake. To his joy he saw that De Mello's little sailing yacht lay at the jetty. He had feared it might have been removed. Creeping along by the front wall of the stables he came to a spot whence he could see the door. A sentry was sitting on the ground, leaning against the wall, his head bent forward as in slumber. It might be possible to get to the jetty without waking him. Will returned to the men, and whispering "Remember!" to Machado, he led the way towards the terrace whence a few steps led down to the jetty.

They were half-way there when, just as they came within the illuminated space, the sentry in a sleepy voice cried, "Who goes there?"

"A friend!" answered Machado at once.

"The word?"

"Libertad!"

The General began to struggle, and Will pressed the cold muzzle of the revolver to his brow.

"Who is it?" said the sentry.

"Stop, and answer him," whispered Will.

"Miguel Machado: you know me," said Machado.

"Ah, SeÑor Machado, it is you. What have you got there?"

"His Excellency sends a spy to feed the caymans."

"A spy!" cried the man, more wakefully. "Who is it?"

"A wretched Indian, once in the service of the Englishman."

"Is that all? I hoped it was the Englishman who escaped. I was coming to have a look at him, but if it is an Indian it is not worth while. I shall hear him squeal. Is there any news from Bolivar, SeÑor Machado?"

"None."

"Then the Englishmen will be shot to-morrow," said the man. "A good riddance. Come and have a chat on your way back."

During this conversation Will had stood behind Machado so that his face could not be seen. The lamp in the hall was a small one, and the light revealed little. They moved on again, came to the steps, and descending these reached the end of the jetty. The General had been passive since he felt the cold steel against his brow; but now, feeling that his last chance had come, he gave a sudden jerk with his legs which threw Azito down. Instantly Will was upon him, but he was a very powerful man, and, bound though he was, he wriggled and heaved his body with such violence that it was difficult to hold him. In the struggle he managed by some means to get rid of the gag, and shouted at the top of his voice--

"Help! help! I am General CarabaÑo."

His voice was of peculiar timbre, and even the slowest-witted sentry could not have failed to recognize it. A moment after he had cried out, the sentry fired off his rifle and shouted into the hall of the house. At once Will and Azito caught the General by the feet and began to drag him as fast as possible along the jetty, Machado still holding his head. They were below the level of the terrace, so that none of them was at present in danger of being shot. The General was still shouting; the sentry, having given the alarm, was reloading as he ran towards the terrace.

The fugitives had now reached the yacht. Will released his hold of the General, and drew in the painter. While he was doing this, the sentry reached the head of the steps and fired. But the darkness and his flurry combined to spoil his aim. Realizing that he had missed, he sprang down the steps, and ran along the jetty, clubbing his rifle. Machado saw him coming, and shrank away; but Azito, dropping the General's feet, waited in a crouching posture, and, parrying the blow with his machete, drove at the man with his head and butted him into the water.

The General, left thus momentarily unguarded, struggled vehemently to break or shake off his bonds. His wriggling brought him to the edge of the narrow jetty, and when Will, having loosed the painter, turned to secure his prisoner, he saw him roll over into the lake on the opposite side. Instantly he flung himself at full length on the jetty, peering into the water for the prize he was determined not to lose. The lake was shallow. In a few moments the General rose spluttering from his immersion, and yelled again for help. Will grabbed him by his wholly hair: Azito plunged into the water, and together they hauled him on to the jetty and threw him into the yacht. Machado had already jumped into it. Will and the Indian followed. The latter seized a paddle, Will pushed off, and the little vessel began to move down the lake towards the canal.