"If I had known your plans at the beginning, I'd have acted differently," Cliffe said.

Altiera gave him a piercing glance.

"Senor, I do not think you are justified in charging us with a want of candor, because there is evidence that you have not been quite honest with us. Our most dangerous enemy is Martin Sarmiento, and we find him staying at your hotel in Havana, where the senorita Cliffe helps him in an attempt to escape observation."

"I do not know the man," Cliffe protested with a puzzled air.

"Then it is strange that we should have caught a messenger bringing you a note from him," Altiera answered. "I think we shall gain nothing by fencing, senor."

Cliffe frowned.

"I've just got to say that I've never, to my knowledge, met Don Martin.

What was the note about?"

"We will talk of that later. In the meanwhile, I understand you have decided not to let me have the money that we need?"

"Not without a written promise that the papers will be signed and handed to me in a fortnight. Unless you consent, I must start for Valverde at once."

Altiera pondered for a few moments, knitting his brows.

"You are, no doubt, anxious to rejoin your daughter," he said slowly.

"Perhaps I had better tell you that she is not at Valverde."

"Not at Valverde!" Cliffe exclaimed. "Then where has she gone?"

"I cannot tell you."

Cliffe clenched his hand, but would not let his alarm master him. He suspected treachery and knew that he must be cool.

"Your secretary a.s.sured me that Miss Cliffe would be safe with the _alcalde's_ wife; I shall hold him responsible. Why did she leave Valverde?"

"It seems the senorita got tired of waiting, and set off to rejoin you.

This is most likely, but it is said in the cafes that she ran away with the senor Gomez."

Cliffe looked up with his face set and an ominous sparkle in his eyes.

"That is a lie!"

"Personally, I think so; but having some knowledge of the s.e.x, I would not care to predict what a romantic young woman might do."

"Get on with your tale!"

Altiera regarded Cliffe calmly.

"The senorita had my secretary's escort, but, finding the road dangerous, he made for Rio Frio, where he put her in safe hands. Her liberty was not interfered with and one morning she left the house and did not come back."

Cliffe got up and advanced a yard or two across the floor.

"You mean she ran away? Why did she do so?"

"Your pardon, senor!" Altiera spread out his hands with a mocking smile.

"There is no reason to believe she had any cause to run away; but, not knowing your daughter's character, I cannot tell you why she went."

"Very well," said Cliffe, restraining himself with an effort. "I must ask you for an armed escort to Rio Frio, where I will make inquiries. I want the men at once!"

"I am afraid that is impossible. We have news that there are rebels in the mountains. If I gave you a guard, the peons might be incited to attack you, and the trouble would spread before we are ready to deal with it. As President of this country, it is my business to think of its welfare first."

"I understand," Cliffe said very dryly. "If I promised to let you have the money you want, you might see your duty differently."

Altiera looked at him with thoughtful eyes. The American was shrewd, but did not seem as eager as he had expected.

"Senor, the need of funds that would ensure the maintenance of order and firm government justifies a risk one would not take without such a reason. I will give you a guard and send soldiers to make a thorough search for the senorita if we can agree about the loan."

"This means you really do not know where my daughter is. I was not sure of it until now."

Altiera saw he had blundered in admitting that the girl was no longer in his hands; but while he considered how his mistake could be covered Cliffe resumed:

"It was a cunning plot, but you put it through clumsily, and you're going to find that kidnapping an American woman is a dangerous game for the President of a third-rate republic."

"One must make allowances for the excited imagination of an anxious father," Altiera answered with an indulgent smile. "I deny the plot.

There is no need for one. We have a charming young lady left alone in a foreign town who finds waiting tedious and determines to join her relative. This is a simple and satisfactory explanation, without the other that she forms a romantic attachment for an officer of rank. We provide an escort because the country is disturbed, and part of the journey is accomplished. It is not safe for her to go farther, but she is rash, and, disregarding our advice, ventures too far from the house.

Then she loses her way and is perhaps seized by the rebels, with the object of embarra.s.sing the Government. We cannot be held responsible, but we are willing to attempt her rescue when we see an opportunity."

The explanation was plausible, and could not be disproved until Cliffe heard his daughter's account. But what he wanted was to find her.

"The opportunity is now, before the rebels begin to move," he said. "You refuse to seize it?"

"You understand why it is impossible. I cannot do anything that might plunge my country into a conflict, unless you show me some reason that would justify the risk."

"I cannot give you such a reason."

Altiera shrugged.

"It is for you to decide! We come to a deadlock; our negotiations break off."

"Very well," said Cliffe. "I leave Villa Paz in an hour, and it wouldn't be wise of you to interfere with my movements. My business with you is known to people who have some political influence in the United States, and if I don't turn up in good time, inquiries will be made."

He turned abruptly and went out. It seemed safer to move quickly, though he imagined the hint he had given Altiera would prevent any attempt to stop him. The President had found a plausible excuse for Evelyn's disappearance, but he would hesitate about detaining an American citizen whose friends could bring pressure to bear at Washington. This supposition was borne out when Cliffe found no trouble in hiring a guide and mules; but while he made the arrangements his brain was working.

He would willingly have met the demand for money, only that Altiera had incautiously admitted that he did not know where Evelyn was. Cliffe had acted on impulse in refusing to submit to further exaction, but calm reflection justified the course. Having a deep distrust of the man, he thought he might take the money and then not undertake the search for the girl. Cliffe determined to set about it himself and make a bid for the help of the revolutionaries. This would involve him in a serious loss, but that did not count. He must rescue his daughter, whatever it cost.

Then he remembered that the President had admitted having intercepted a message to him from the rebel leader. He had meant to insist on learning what it was about, but had somehow omitted to do so, and it was now too late to reopen the matter. There was, however, a ray of hope in the thought that Sarmiento had tried to communicate with him.

When his baggage had been strapped on a pack-mule, he mounted and rode out of Villa Paz as if making for Valverde, but as soon as they had left the last of the houses behind he pulled up and quietly studied his guide. He was a st.u.r.dy, brown-faced peon, dressed in ragged white cotton, with raw-hide sandals and a colored blanket strapped round his shoulders, but he looked trustworthy. Moreover, Cliffe thought his willingness to a.s.sist a foreigner who was leaving the President's house without an escort, which must have shown that he had lost the autocrat's favor, had some significance. It was unfortunate that he could not speak much Castilian, but he knew that money talks in a language that is generally understood.

"I have changed my mind; we will not go to the coast," he said, stumbling over the words and helping out his meaning by pointing to the mountains.

The peon nodded.