The hours passed, and daylight came with no word from the American consul.  By this time the two prisoners were really in need of medical attention.  Their contusions pained them severely.  Kirk felt as if one or more of his ribs were broken, and his suffering, combined with hunger, prevented sleep.  He became feverish and fretful, but his demands for communication with the outside world were calmly ignored, although he felt certain that his wishes were fully understood.  When the morning had passed without his being arraigned for a hearing he grew alarmed.  Evidently he had been flung into confinement and forgotten.

Eventually Kirk and Allan were given food, but still no one came to their relief.  Apparently no message had been delivered.  This treatment was so atrocious, so at variance with Anthony’s ideas of his own importance, that he felt he must be suffering from nightmare.  How dared they treat an American so, no matter what the charge?  Why didn’t they try him or give him a hearing?  These insolent, overbearing Panamaniacs had no regard for law or humanity, and this was no longer a question of petty injustice; it was a grave infraction of civilized equity.

But the afternoon wore on without an encouraging sign, till Kirk began to think that Weeks had refused to intercede for him and intended to leave him to the mercies of his enemies.  With difficulty he managed to convey to a guard his desire to notify some of the other Americans in the city, but as usual no heed was paid to his request.

It was considerably after dark when a visitor was at last admitted.  He proved to be the English consul, whom Anthony had never met.

“What are you doing here?” the new-comer inquired.  Then, when the facts had been laid before him, he exclaimed:  “Why, I heard that a Jamaican negro had been arrested, but I heard nothing about mistreatment of a white man.”

“Doesn’t anybody know I’m here?”

“I’m sure no one does.  Those heathens lied to you—­they never communicated with Weeks or anybody.  They’re afraid.  This is an old trick of theirs—­man-handling a prisoner, then keeping him hidden until he recovers.  If he doesn’t recover they get out of it on some excuse or other, as best they can.  Why, they killed a white sailor not long ago—­just plain clubbed him to death without excuse, then asserted that he resisted arrest.  They did the same to one of our negroes.  He died in the jail before I got wind of it, and when I started an investigation they showed his signed statement declaring that he had not been abused at all, and had been given the kindest treatment.  The matter isn’t settled yet.  It’s infamous!  Why, I had hard work to get in at all just now.  But I’ll have Allan here out in two hours or I’ll know the reason.  England protects her subjects, Mr. Anthony, and these people know it.  If they don’t come to time I’ll have a gunboat in the harbor in twenty-four hours.  Color doesn’t amount to a damn with us, sir; it’s the flag.”