By the time the
engineer had added his whit of information, we were swinging
around toward the Pacific dump. I dropped off and, climbing up the
flank of Ancon hill, descended through the hospital grounds.
Where the royal palms are finest and there opens out the broadest
view of Panama, Ancon, and the bay, I gave myself five minutes'
pause, after which a carriage bore me to a shop near Cathedral
Plaza where second-hand goods are bought--and no questions asked.
On the way back to Ancon station I visited two similar
establishments.
I had been lolling in the swivel-chair a full ten minutes,
perhaps, when the telephone rang. It was "the Captain" calling for
me. When I reached the third-story back he handed me extradition
papers to the Secretary of Foreign Affairs in Panama. A half-hour
later, wholly outstripping the manana idea, I had signed a receipt
for the Jap in question and transferred him from Panama to Ancon
jail. Whereupon I descended to the evening passenger and rode to
Pedro Miguel for five minutes' conversation, and caught the labor-
train Panamaward. At Corozal I stepped off for a word with the
officer on the platform and the labor-train plunged on again,
after the fashion of labor-trains, spilling the last half of its
disembarking passengers along the way. Ten minutes later the
headlight of the last passenger swung around the curve and carried
me away to Panama.
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