Kit gave him a cigar, but after a few minutes he threw it away.

“I don’t feel much better and think I’ll go to my room.  You might come along; the stairs are steep.”

He got up awkwardly and leaned upon the table, breathing rather hard while big drops of sweat started from his forehead.  “This confounded ague grips me tight.  Don’t know when I’ve felt so shaky.  Better give me your arm.”

They started, and keeping in the shadow, reached the outside stairs without exciting much curiosity, but Kit felt disturbed.  Adam went up slowly, stopping now and then, and stumbled across the balcony at the top.  Bright moonlight shone into the bare room, where a small lamp burned, and Kit saw that Adam’s face was wet.

“Leave me alone,” he said.  “You can come back by and by and see how I’m getting on.”

Kit did not want to go, but gave way when Adam insisted.  He met the president soon afterwards.

“Where is Don Adam?” the latter asked.

Kit told him and added that his uncle had seemed to get worse after drinking some wine.

“Ah,” said Alvarez thoughtfully.  “Fresh lime-juice is better when one is feverish.  Did he drink anything else?”

“No,” said Kit.  “The waiter wanted to bring some anisado, but he insisted on the wine.”

Alvarez took him to the table where the refreshments were served and clapped his hands.  A waiter came up, but Kit said, “That is not the boy.”

“Where are your companions?” the president asked.

“One is washing the glasses, senor.  I do not know where the other has gone.”

Alvarez opened a door and Kit saw a man putting small copitas into a pail.

“It was another fellow who brought the wine,” he said, and Alvarez beckoned the waiter.

“Call the mayor-domo.”

A man dressed in plain black clothes came in, and Alvarez asked:  “How many of these fellows did you send to serve the wine?”

“Two, senor.  It was enough.”

“Three came.  It will be your business to find the third,” said the president sternly and turned to Kit.  “What was the fellow like?”

Kit described the waiter and Alvarez said to the mayor-domo, “You will be held accountable if the man has got away.  Send Doctor Martin to the bottom of the stairs.”

The mayor-domo went away and Alvarez knitted his brows.

“Galdar’s friends are bold, but I had not expected this.  However, Don Adam’s drinking wine may have balked them and Martin is a good doctor.”

Kit asked no questions, for he could trust the president and thought there was no time to lose.  They crossed the patio and found a man waiting in the shadow at the bottom of the steps.  Alvarez said a word or two and they went up.  When they entered the room Adam glanced up from the bed.

“I see you have brought the doctor,” he said with an effort.

“In this country, one takes precautions,” Alvarez replied.  “You look ill, my friend.”