Clif paid little attention to these details. He was lost in admiration of the really beautiful view stretched out before him.
Darkness was almost at hand, but away in the east, a soft rosy glow still lingered above the hills. Down below at his feet was a panorama of lights and shadows, twinkling sparks of fire, and black objects grotesque in their vagueness.
The river flowed beyond the town, lighter in color and bearing smudges which on nearer view would have resolved themselves into steamers and ships and fishing craft of many sizes.
This much Clif saw and admired, then he remembered the lateness of the hour and was on the point of turning to go when suddenly he felt a pair of sinewy arms clasped about his body.
A low voice hissed some command in Portuguese, then a soft object, evidently a coat, was thrown over his head and wound tightly.
He struggled, of course, and tried to cry out, but the muffled sounds went no further than his lips.
He writhed and tugged and fought madly to free himself, but those inflexible arms did not yield.
A hand snatched away his watch, another went through his pockets with practiced deftness, then came a muttered exclamation, and the lad found himself being lifted from the ground.
This last movement wrung a cry of terror from his lips. He knew the intention of his assailants.
Crying frantically for help, Clif made one final, desperate effort to escape.
He struggled to free his arms until the muscles stood out in great bands; he kicked and butted, fought with hand and knee and teeth, but he was slowly and surely forced back against the hard stone rampart.
Then came the end. There was a last mighty effort, then a wild cry rang out into the night echoing down, down, down until a soft, crouching thud placed an abrupt period to the horrible shriek.
In a back room of a disreputable drinking resort on a narrow street leading from the water front were seated two youths clad in the uniform worn by United States naval cadets.
On the table between them were a bottle and two glasses. Both youths were smoking cigarettes, and both appeared ill at ease.
“I can’t stand this much longer, Chris,” said one, nervously flipping the ash from his cigarette. “If that little beggar don’t turn up pretty soon----”