Reginald Wright Kauffman

“ Dan looked down over the rail. In spite of the rising smoke, he could now see Don Ramon quite clearly. Behind the altar and through its marble tracery, the pseudo-planter was taking careful aim at the constabulary. He had probably made his way to the chapel by a roundabout course after passing through a back door of the palacio; he never dreamed of looking up. ”

“ Dan looked back toward the way by which he had entered.
“The plates!” shrieked Hoagland, divining his purpose while it was yet but half formed. “Never mind the man! The plates are worth more'n their maker. Why——”
But Stone, with quick decision, zigzagged a path among his new-found allies. He had a score of his own to pay. He ran across the patio and into the now deserted house.
He tore upstairs. He rushed light-footed along a gallery and so came, with quick stealth, upon the balcony over which he had thrown the peon who now lay dead there on the chapel floor. ”

“ Hoagland fairly shook him. “Got what? Where?”
“The plates. Don't! You're hurting my shoulder where Peña bit it! I mean I know where they are. Listen! In every Catholic altar there is a piece of metal or a thin mortared stone—the altar stone that covers a cavity. They put relics of a saint in it. This chapel's not used now, but the altar stone—that hole—that must be here; it's just the place. ”