but I should think he might
figure that out for himself. Come around in the morning and we will talk
it over. But I should advise you to look around for another jailor. This
one's imagination is too strong."

"Then if you did not leave the jail and you have changed your mind, you
have no use for that pass that General Serano sent you," said the
interpreter, with his genial smile. Bert looked at Harry in dismay. How
was he to get out of this snarl?

"No, that's quite true. Bert, will you get the pass for the general out
of the pocket of my coat on the chair there?"

"Your coat is not here, Hal," said Bert in apparent surprise as he
stepped to the chair.

"Not there? What nonsense. Tell the general that I shall hold his jailor
responsible for my clothes. How under the sun am I to go about in my
underclothes. It is not the value of the suit at all. It is pretty well
used up now, but it's the principle of the thing."

As Harry talked he thrashed about under the bed-clothing as if in anger.

"And then there was nothing of importance in the pockets--no papers that
could be of any possible value to any one. It is an outrage--tell
General What-You-May-Call-Him that I consider it an outrage on a
helpless prisoner to have his clothing sneaked away in the middle of the
night, either for the profit of the jailor or the possible information
of his captors. Mr. Wyman, is there nothing that can be done in this
matter?"

General Serano spoke a few words to the interpreter, who promptly
repeated them with evident glee.

"The general says you are to get out of bed."

"It's all up now," thought Bert, and his face turned a shade paler.

"The general is inconsiderate; however, since he insists I will take the
chances of another chill."

As Harry spoke he drew his legs up from under the sheet and stood down
on the floor clad only in his underclothing. He had somehow managed to
slip out of the girl's dress while he protested against the
disappearance of his clothing. Bert drew a breath of relief; but the
respite was brief. General Serano, either thoughtlessly or by design,
threw back the sheet from Harry's bed as soon as he touched the floor
and disclosed the dress from which he had with difficulty extricated
himself.

"Whose is this?" demanded the general, pouncing on the garment and
holding it out for inspection.

"Whose is this?" repeated the interpreter like a parrot.

"How should I know," answered Harry.

"Probably b