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 The question seemed in some measure to renew Falcon's anger.

"Upon my life, Señor Ruy Ortiz," he cried irritably, "I do not know, and I am not likely to know so long as I trust to your commandant, Montiano, in this matter. Why he should be so tender towards this Gilbert Barradell I cannot guess. But this I will tell you—that I am done with dallying and paltering. The matter is my private affair. It is no part of my bargain with Montiano that I should follow his wishes in this business. I shall defer to him no longer. Within the week I shall set sail for the southward, and when I reach Concha's town I shall deal with Barradell as I think best."

At the first mention of Barradell, Lachlan's heart had given a mighty leap. It was true, then. Chief Concha's prisoner was indeed Jolie Stanwicke's lost lover! What had been hitherto mere conjecture was now a certainty; and even if nothing else were learned from Falcon, priceless information had been gained. That there was much more to be learned was obvious; but it was obvious, too, that an effort to learn more would be desperately dangerous and might undo all that had been won.

All this Lachlan realized in a flash; yet, yielding to impulse, he ventured greatly.

"So be it, Captain," he answered suavely. "It is not for me to dissuade you."

He lifted his wine to his lips.

"To your success!" he murmured, and drained the