"Yes," said he, "the base-ball pitcher with a game wing is supposed to be bunking with me, but he flew the coop this afternoon and I haven't seen him since. He said he was going to Balboa to sniff the breezes. You look worried. Anything wrong?"
"I am a little afraid for him," answered Alfaro. "He was to dine with me. I think he may have gone into Panama and got himself into trouble. He has mixed himself up with some people who would be very glad to do him harm."
The surgeon looked perturbed in his turn.
"I am fond of the youngster," said he. "He is not in fit condition to take care of himself. If you have reason to fret about him, suppose we try to look him up. Shall I telephone the Zone police department? Have you any clews?"
A solid foot-fall sounded on the screened porch, and the big frame of Jack Devlin, the steam-shovel man, loomed at the door. His pugnacious, redly tanned face beamed good-naturedly as he said in greeting:
"Howdy, Doc! I dropped in to see my young pal Goodwin, but he's not in the ward. What have you done with him? Is he all mended?"
"We have sort of mislaid him. This is his friend, Señor Alfaro. He can explain the circumstances."
Devlin gripped the slim fingers of the Colombian in his calloused paw and exclaimed:
"Glad to meet you. Goodwin told me how you played a star part in the one-act piece of the parrot and the broomstick. What's on your mind?"
"Goodwin has not come back, and we think General Quesada may have caught him in Panama."
"Quesada, eh?" and Devlin scowled ferociously. "I wouldn't mind taking a crack at that fat crook myself. What's the evidence? Put me next."
Alfaro explained in his vehement, impassioned manner, and at the mention of Captain Brincker the steam-shovel man raised a hand and interrupted:
"Stop a minute. You say you saw this gray-headed beach-comber in Guayaquil one time? So did I, my son. I know him. He is bad medicine for young Goodwin to interfere with, but he has a decent streak in him. Quesada sounds a good deal worse to me. He's a yellow pup all the way through. Come along, Señor Alfaro. Grab your hat and follow me. I need you to sling the Spanish language."
"You are going to consult with the police?" queried the Colombian.