Goodwin and the ardent patriot， Zavalla， took all theprecautions that their foresight could contrive to preventthe escape of President Miraflores and his companion.
The sent trusted messengers up the coast to Solitasand Alazan to warn the local leaders of the flight， andto instruct them to patrol the water line and arrest thefugitives at all hazards should they reveal themselves inthat territory. After this was done there remained only tocover the district about Coralio and await the coming ofthe quarry. The nets were well spread. The roads were sofew， the opportunities for embarkation so limited， and thetwo or three probable points of exit so well guarded thatit would be strange indeed if there should slip throughthe meshes so much of the country’s dignity， romance，and collateral. The president would， without doubt， moveas secretly as possible， and endeavor to board a vessel bystealth from some secluded point along the shore.
On the fourth day after the receipt of Englehart’stelegram the Karlsefin， a Norwegian steamer charteredby the New Orleans fruit trade， anchored off Coraliowith three horse toots of her siren. The Karlesfin ws notone of the line operated by the Vesuvius Fruit Company.
She was something of a dilettante， doing odd jobs for acompany that was scarcely important enough to figure asa rival to the Vesuvius. The movements of the Karlesfinwere dependent upon the state of the market. Sometimesshe would ply steadily between the Spanish Main and NewOrleans in the regular transport of fruit； next she wouldbe maing erratic trips to Mobile or Charleston， or even asfar north as New York， according to the distribution ofthe fruit supply.
Goodwin lounged upon the beach with the susual crowdof idlers that had gathered to view the steamer. Nowthat President Miraflores might be expected to reach theborders of his abjured country at any time， the orderswere to keep a strict and unrelenting watch. Every vesselthat approached the shores might now be considered apossible means of escape for the fugitives； and an eye waskept even on the slopes and dories that belonged to thesea-going contingent of Coralio. Goodwin and Zavallamoved everywhere， but without ostentation， watching theloopholes of escape.
The customs official crowded importantly into theirboat and rowed out to the Karlesfin. A boat from thesteamer landed her purser with his papers， and took outthe quarantine doctor with his green umbrella and clinicalthermometer. Next a swarm of Caribs began to load uponlighters the thousands of bunches of bananas heapedupon the shore and row them out to the steamer. TheKarlesfin had no passenger list， and was soon done withthe attention of the authorities. The purser declared thatthe steamer would remain at anchor until morning， takingon her fruit during the night. The Karlesfin had come，he said， from New York， to which port her latest load oforanges and coconuts had been conveyed. Two or three ofthe freighter sloops were engaged to assist in the work， forthe captain was anxious to make a quick return in order toreap the advantage offered by a certain dearth of fruit inthe States.
About four o’clock in the afternoon another of thosemarine monsters， not very familiar in those waters， hove insight， following the fateful Idalia—a graceful steam yacht，painted a light buff， clean-cut as a steel engraving. Thebeautiful vessel hovered off shore， see-sawing the wavesas lightly as a duck in a rain barrel. A swift boat mannedby a crew in uniform came ashore， and a stocky-built manleaped to the sands.
The newcomer seemed to turn a disapproving eye uponthe rather motley congregation of native Anchurians，and made his way at once toward Goodwin， who was themost conspicuously Anglo-Saxon figure present. Goodwingreeted him with courtesy.
Conversation developed that the newly landed onewas named Smith， and that he had come in a yacht. Ameagre biography， truly； for the yacht was most apparent；and the “Smith” not beyond a reasonable guess beforethe revelation. Yet to the eye of Goodwin， who has seenseveral things， there was a discrepancy between Smith andhis yacht. A bullet-headed man Smith was， with an oblique，dead eye and the moustache of a cocktail-mixer. Andunless he had shifted costumes before putting off for shorehe had affronted the deck of his correct vessel clad in apearl-gray derby， a gay plaid suit and vaudeville neckwear.
Men owning pleasure yachts generally harmonize betterwith them.
Smith looked business， but he was no advertiser. Hecommented upon the scenery， remarking upon its fidelityto the pictures in the geography； and then inquired forthe United States consul. Goodwin pointed out thestarred-and-striped bunting hanging from above the littleconsulate， which was concealed behind the orange-trees.
“Mr. Geddie， the consul， will be sure to be there，” saidGoodwin. “He was very nearly drowned a few days agowhile taking a swim in the sea， and the doctor has orderedhim to remain indoors for some time.”
Smith ploughed his way through the sand to the consulate，his haberdashery creating violent discord against thesmooth tropical blues and greens.
Geddie was lounging in his hammock， somewhat pale offace and languid in pose. On that night when the Valhalla’sboat had brought him ashore apparently drenched todeath by the sea， Doctor Gregg and his other friends hadtoiled for hours to preserve the little spark of life thatremained to him. The bottle， with its impotent message，was gone out to sea， and the problem that it had provokedwas reduced to a simple sum in addition—one and onemake two， by the rule of arithmetic； one by the rule ofromance.