ill lying on the floor, but he raised up to look at
them, his haggard, tortured face shining white in the rays of the
lantern.

"Get up," commanded one of the men, in a low, muffled voice. "Get up."

The face of the speaker was shrouded in darkness, but Clif recognized
the voice, and a cold chill shot over him.

"Ignacio again!" he gasped.

Yes. And Clif thought that this was the last--that Ignacio had gained
his purpose. The task of murder was left to him.

But there was no chance of resistance. Clif felt the cold muzzle of a
revolver pressed to his head, and so he put the thought away.

One of the men snapped a pair of handcuffs about his wrists, as if to
make sure of him in case the ropes were not strong enough. And then one
of them seized him by each arm and Ignacio stepped behind with the
lantern.

And so out of the cell they marched and down the long corridor and out
of the building into the open air.

Clif had chance for but one deep breath of it. A moment later he was
shoved into a wagon that was in front of the door.

There he was seated between one of the men and the chuckling Ignacio.
The other man was driving and they rattled off down the street.

Where they were going the unfortunate victim had no idea. Perhaps to
some lonely spot where Ignacio could torture him to his fiendish heart's
content! But there was no use in making an outcry.

And Clif realized it and sat perfectly silent. He would give his enemies
no more satisfaction than he could help.

Clif did not think that it could be the trip to Morro that was before
him; it was too early for such a deed of darkness. If he were dropped
overboard upon the way some one might see it.

But as it actually happened, Morro was his destination. And he really
reached Morro, too. Perhaps the city jail was not considered strong
enough for such a villain as he.

And the carriage stopped at a wharf. A small launch was waiting there,
and the party boarded her and were swept across to the other side in a
very short while.

So in a short while the walls of Havana's strongest dungeon shut upon
Clif Faraday. He was a prisoner in Morro, famous or infamous, for its
deeds of horror.

For it was in this place, as Clif knew, that all the torture and cruelty
of the Spanish nature had been wreaked upon the unfortunate Cubans or
Americans who fell into the hands of Weyler. It was here that Ruiz had
been murdered, and hundreds of wretches besides--their name and