d the others will never
know. The wall of water was as thick as ever when we fought our bowed
and weary way up over the railroad bridge and, summoning up the last
strength, splurged tottering into "Angelini's."

When our streaming had so far subsided that they recognised us for
solvent human beings, encouraging concoctions were set before us.
Bridgley, fearing the after effects, acquired a further quart bottle of
protection, and when we had gathered force for the last dash we plunged
out once more toward our several goals. As the door of 111 slammed
behind me, the downpour suddenly slackened. As I paused before my room
to drain, it stopped raining.

I supped on bread, beer, and cheese from over the frontier--we had
arrived thirty seconds too late for Ancon police mess. Then when I had
saved what was salvable from the wreckage and reclad in such wardrobe
as had luckily remained at home, I strolled over toward the police
station to put in a serene and quiet evening.

But it has long since been established that troubles flock together. As
I crunched up the gravel walk between the hedge-rows, wild riot broke
on my ear. Ancon police station was in eruption. From the Lieutenant to
the newest uniformless "rookie" every member of the force was swarming
in and out of the building. The Zone and Panama telephones were ringing
in their two opposing dialects, the deskman was shouting his own
peculiar brand of Spanish into one receiver and bawling English at the
other, all hands were diving into old clothes, the most apathetic of
the force were girding up their loins with the adventurous fire of the
old Moro-hunting days in their eyes, and all, some ahorse, more afoot,
were dashing one by one out into the night and the jungle.

It was several minutes before I could catch the news. At last it was
shouted at me over a telephone. Murder! A white Greek--who ever heard
of a colored Greek?--with a white shirt on had shot a man at Pedro
Miguel at 6:35. Every road and bypath of escape to Panama was already
blocked, armed men would meet the assassin whatever way he might take.
I went down to meet the evening train, resolved after that to strike
out into the night in the random hope of having my share in the chase.
It had begun to rain again, but only moderately, as if it realized it
could never again equal the afternoon record.

Then suddenly the excitement exploded. It was only a near-murder. Two
Colombians had been shot, but would in a