Bridgley, fearing the after effects, acquired a further quart
bottle of protection, and when we had gathered force for the last
dash we plunged out once more toward our several goals. As the
door of 111 slammed behind me, the downpour suddenly slackened. As
I paused before my room to drain, it stopped raining.
I supped on bread, beer, and cheese from over the frontier--we had
arrived thirty seconds too late for Ancon police mess. Then when I
had saved what was salvable from the wreckage and reclad in such
wardrobe as had luckily remained at home, I strolled over toward
the police station to put in a serene and quiet evening.
But it has long since been established that troubles flock
together. As I crunched up the gravel walk between the hedge-rows,
wild riot broke on my ear. Ancon police station was in eruption.
From the Lieutenant to the newest uniformless "rookie" every
member of the force was swarming in and out of the building. The
Zone and Panama telephones were ringing in their two opposing
dialects, the deskman was shouting his own peculiar brand of
Spanish into one receiver and bawling English at the other, all
hands were diving into old clothes, the most apathetic of the
force were girding up their loins with the adventurous fire of the
old Moro-hunting days in their eyes, and all, some ahorse, more
afoot, were dashing one by one out into the night and the jungle.
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