- ance is summoned. Van Zandt and Manada wait until
Gen. Murillo is laid in the ambulance and the surgeon in charge has assured them that the man is not fatally hurt; then they tell their story to the policeman and go about their business.
"A peculiar episode," remarks Van Zandt. "Our friend will never know to whom he owes his rescue and perhaps his life. Our affair must be hurried, nevertheless, for we know what his first effort will be when he recovers consciousness."
"Yet some day, when Cuba is free, I shall have the pleasure of recalling the incident to his mind."
"When Cuba is free," repeats Van Zandt. "Well, luck favoring us, we shall fire a shot to-day that will ring in the ears of the government at Madrid. Here we are at the Semiramis. Where is the Isabel?"
"Just beyond. Not twenty feet away."
Van Zandt hails his yacht and ten minutes later he and Manada are in the luxurious cabin, in consultation with Capt. Beals, a bluff old Maine sea dog, who is prepared for any caprice on the part of his employer and expresses not the least surprise when informed that arrangements for a cruise to Cuba must be instantly set afoot.
And that morning, while the wind howls around Manhattan Island, and drives the sleet into the eyes of belated pedestrians; while Murillo awakens to consciousness in Bellevue Hospital and tells the attending surgeon that, head or no head, he leaves for Cuba within half a dozen hours; and while the last carriage load of half-drunken sports dashes away from the Madison Square Garden, a work is in progress aboard the Semiramis that means more to its owner than he dreams of as he stands with folded arms in the dim light of the ship lanterns, watching silently the transshipment of the insurgent's arms.
