CHAPTER III.
THE GUN RUNNERS "We'll land here, Mrs.Dunlap." Ramon Santos, terror of the Washington State Department and of a half dozen consulates in New York, stuck a pin in a map of Central America spread out on a table before Constance.
"Insurrectos will meet us," he pursued, then added, "but we must have money, first, my dear Senora, plenty of money." Dark of eye and skin, with black imperial and mustache, tall, straight as an arrow, Santos had risen and was now gazing down with rapt attention, not at the map, but at Constance herself.
Every curve of her face and wave of her hair, every line of her trim figure which her filmy gown seemed to accentuate rather than conceal added fire to his ardent glances.
He touched lightly another pin sticking in a little, almost microscopic island of the Caribbean.
"Our plan, it is simple," he continued with animation in spite of his foreign accent.

"On this island a plant to print paper money, to coin silver.

With that we shall land, pay our men as they flock to us, collect forces, seize cities, appropriate the customs.

Once we start, it is easy." Constance looked up quickly.

"But that is counterfeiting," she exclaimed.
"No," rejoined Santos, "it is a war measure.