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So
,
for
a
time
,
must
Smith
pass
behind
the
scenes
of
the
play
.
He
comes
no
more
to
Coralio
nor
to
Doctor
Gregg
,
who
sits
in
vain
,
wagging
his
redundant
beard
,
waiting
to
enrich
his
derelict
audience
with
his
moving
tale
of
trepanning
and
jealousy
.
But
prosperously
to
the
lucidity
of
these
loose
pages
,
Smith
shall
flutter
among
them
again
In
the
nick
of
time
he
shall
come
to
tell
us
why
he
strewed
so
many
anxious
cigar
stumps
around
the
cocoanut
palm
that
night
.
This
he
must
do
;
for
,
when
he
sailed
away
before
the
dawn
in
his
yacht
Rambler
,
he
carried
with
him
the
answer
to
a
riddle
so
big
and
preposterous
that
few
in
Anchuria
had
ventured
even
to
propound
it
.
The
plans
for
the
detention
of
the
flying
President
Miraflores
and
his
companion
at
the
coast
line
seemed
hardly
likely
to
fail
.
Dr.
Zavalla
himself
had
gone
to
the
port
of
Alazan
to
establish
a
guard
at
that
point
.
At
Solitas
the
Liberal
patriot
Varras
could
be
depended
upon
to
keep
close
watch
.
Goodwin
held
himself
responsible
for
the
district
about
Coralio
.
The
news
of
the
president
's
flight
had
been
disclosed
to
no
one
in
the
coast
towns
save
trusted
members
of
the
ambitious
political
party
that
was
desirous
of
succeeding
to
power
.
The
telegraph
wire
running
from
San
Mateo
to
the
coast
had
been
cut
far
up
on
the
mountain
trail
by
an
emissary
of
Zavalla
's
.
Long
before
this
could
be
repaired
and
word
received
along
it
from
the
capital
the
fugitives
would
have
reached
the
coast
and
the
question
of
escape
or
capture
been
solved
.
Goodwin
had
stationed
armed
sentinels
at
frequent
intervals
along
the
shore
for
a
mile
in
each
direction
from
Coralio
.
They
were
instructed
to
keep
a
vigilant
lookout
during
the
night
to
prevent
Miraflores
from
attempting
to
embark
stealthily
by
means
of
some
boat
or
sloop
found
by
chance
at
the
water
's
edge
.
A
dozen
patrols
walked
the
streets
of
Coralio
unsuspected
,
ready
to
intercept
the
truant
official
should
he
show
himself
there
.
Goodwin
was
very
well
convinced
that
no
precautions
had
been
overlooked
.
He
strolled
about
the
streets
that
bore
such
high-sounding
names
and
were
but
narrow
,
grass-covered
lanes
,
lending
his
own
aid
to
the
vigil
that
had
been
intrusted
to
him
by
Bob
Englehart
.
The
town
had
begun
the
tepid
round
of
its
nightly
diversions
.
A
few
leisurely
dandies
,
clad
in
white
duck
,
with
flowing
neckties
,
and
swinging
slim
bamboo
canes
,
threaded
the
grassy
by-ways
toward
the
houses
of
their
favoured
señoritas
.
Those
who
wooed
the
art
of
music
dragged
tirelessly
at
whining
concertinas
,
or
fingered
lugubrious
guitars
at
doors
and
windows
.
An
occasional
soldier
from
the
cuartel
,
with
flapping
straw
hat
,
without
coat
or
shoes
,
hurried
by
,
balancing
his
long
gun
like
a
lance
in
one
hand
.
From
every
density
of
the
foliage
the
giant
tree
frogs
sounded
their
loud
and
irritating
clatter
.
Further
out
,
where
the
by-ways
perished
at
the
brink
of
the
jungle
,
the
guttural
cries
of
marauding
baboons
and
the
coughing
of
the
alligators
in
the
black
estuaries
fractured
the
vain
silence
of
the
wood
.
By
ten
o'clock
the
streets
were
deserted
.
The
oil
lamps
that
had
burned
,
a
sickly
yellow
,
at
random
corners
,
had
been
extinguished
by
some
economical
civic
agent
.
Coralio
lay
sleeping
calmly
between
toppling
mountains
and
encroaching
sea
like
a
stolen
babe
in
the
arms
of
its
abductors
.
Somewhere
over
in
that
tropical
darkness
--
perhaps
already
threading
the
profundities
of
the
alluvial
lowlands
--
the
high
adventurer
and
his
mate
were
moving
toward
land
's
end
.
The
game
of
Fox-inthe-Morning
should
be
coming
soon
to
its
close
.
Goodwin
,
at
his
deliberate
gait
,
passed
the
long
,
low
cuartel
where
Coralio
's
contingent
of
Anchuria
's
military
force
slumbered
,
with
its
bare
toes
pointed
heavenward
.
