Enriquez, a distinguished, scholarly Cuban of
middle age.
"You say you have important business with me?" the latter
inquired, speaking with an accent of refinement.
O'Reilly plunged boldly into the heart of the matter which had
brought him thither. When he had finished his tale Mr. Enriquez
inquired:
"But how do you expect me to help you?"
"I want your advice more than your help, although you might tell
me where I can find Colonel Lopez."
Enriquez eyed his caller keenly. "That information would be very
well worth having," said he. "But, you understand, we know little
about what is going on in Cuba--far less than the Spaniards
themselves. I'm afraid I can't help you."
"You don't take me for a spy, do you?" Johnnie asked, with his
friendly grin.
"Ah! You don't look like one, but we never know whom to trust.
This young lady in whom you are interested, who is she?"
"Her name is Varona; Miss Rosa Varona."
"So?" Enriquez raised his brows. "Not by any chance the heiress to
that famous Varona treasure?"
"Exactly!--if there is such a thing." There ensued a pause while
the Cuban drummed softly upon his desk with his finger-tips. "Her
brother Esteban told me that he was working for your cause. I
warned him to be careful, but--" O'Reilly's voice grew suddenly
husky. "Here! Read this. I want you to believe me.
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