“Cortlandt has been working carefully, and he has been in all the seven Provinces.  He admits that it might be done; and she is certain.  You see, their part in the Colombian affair makes them strong with the leaders, and they have already whipped the foreign influences into line.  Of course, it will mean a fight—­Alfarez won’t give up easily—­but, if Garavel should be the next President, it would be a fine thing for both countries.”

The other commissioner shook his white head doubtfully.  “I supposed it was all settled; Cortlandt himself told me Alfarez was a good man the last time I talked with him.  My God, it seems to me we’ve got enough on our hands without being guardians for a two-by-four republic filled with maniacs.  We’ve got to finish this job on time.  I can’t understand this change of sentiment.”

“Oh, it isn’t settled.  There is ample time for anything to happen.  When the psychological moment comes, Cortlandt will be in position to swing his influence whichever way he thinks best.”

“Well, it’s a puzzling situation,” Colonel Bland admitted.  “And I wish it were over.”  Then he branched off on the subject of a cargo of cement which had not been up to standard and might have to be rejected.

Over at Panama the Cortlandts were looking for a house to lease.  Affairs had reached a point where it seemed advisable to give up their quarters at the Tivoli and enter into closer contact with the life of the Spanish city.  One reason for the move was the necessity for a greater privacy than the hotel afforded, for the time was not far distant when privacy might prove of paramount importance.

Meanwhile they gave a ceremonious little dinner, the one and only guest being Andres Garavel, the banker.

Of all the charming peoples of Central America there are, perhaps, none more polished and well-bred than the upper-class Panamanians.  Of this agreeable type, Senor Garavel was an admirable example, having sprung from the finest Castilian stock, as a name running back through the pages of history to the earliest conquests attested.  Other Garavels had played important parts in the troubled affairs of Guatemala, and it was the banker’s proud boast that one of his ancestors had assisted Alvarado to christen the first capital of that country—­the city of St. James the Gentleman—­in 1524.  The name had later figured prominently in Antigua, that Athens of the New World where the flower of Spanish America gathered.  A later forebear had fled southward at the time of the disturbances incidental to the revolt of the colonies, but in his departure there had been no disgrace, and since that time the Garavels had worthily maintained the family traditions of dignity and honor.

The present bearer of the name was of distinguished appearance.  He was swarthy of skin, his hair was snow-white, and he had stern, black eyes of great intelligence.  In size he was not above the medium, but his manner fully made up for any deficiency of stature.  He was courtly and deliberate, evincing a pride that sprang not only from good blood but from good deeds.  His poise was that of a man with heavy responsibilities, for Andres Garavel was a careful banker and a rich one.  He was widely travelled, well-informed, an agreeable talker, and the conversation at Mrs. Cortlandt’s table did not lag.