Part 3 (2/2)
The blue eyes of the Consul opened slightly, but he answered with directness, ”I am. I have that honor.”
”And with her daughters?” added Roddy anxiously.
With dignity the Consul inclined his head.
”I want very much to meet them--her,” corrected Roddy. ”I am going to set her husband free!”
For a moment, as though considering whether he were not confronted by a madman, the Consul regarded Roddy with an expression of concern.
Then, in the deprecatory tone of one who believes he has not heard aright, he asked, ”You are going to do--_what_?”
”I am going to help General Rojas to escape,” Roddy went on briskly--”myself and another fellow. But we are afraid he won't trust himself to us, so I am over here to get credentials from his wife.
But, you see, I have first got to get credentials to her. So I came to ask you if you'd sort of vouch for me, tell her who I am--and all that.”
The Consul was staring at him so strangely that Roddy believed he had not made himself fully understood.
”You know what I mean,” he explained. ”Credentials, something he will know came from her--a ring or a piece of paper saying, 'These are friends. Go with them.' Or a lock of her hair, or--or--you know,”
urged Roddy in embarra.s.sment--”credentials.”
”Are you jesting?” asked the older man coldly.
Roddy felt genuinely uncomfortable. He was conscious he was blus.h.i.+ng.
”Certainly not,” he protested. ”It is serious enough, isn't it?”
The voice of the Consul dropped to a whisper.
”Who sent you here?” he demanded. Without waiting for an answer he suddenly rose. Moving with surprising lightness to the door, he jerked it open. But if by this manoeuvre he expected to precipitate the spy into the room, he was disappointed, for the outer office was empty.
The Consul crossed it quickly to the window. He saw the spy disappearing into a neighboring wine-shop.
When Captain Codman again entered the inner office he did not return to his seat, but, after closing the door, as though to shut Roddy from the only means of escape, he stood with his back against it. He was very much excited.
”Mr. Forrester,” he began angrily, ”I don't know who is back of you, and,” he cried violently, ”I don't _mean_ to know. I have been American Consul in these Central American countries for fifteen years, and I have never mixed myself up with what doesn't concern me. I represent the United States government. I don't represent anything else. I am not down here to a.s.sist any corporation, no matter how rich, any junta, any revolutionary party----”
”Here! Wait!” cried Roddy anxiously. ”You don't understand! I am not a revolution. There is only me and Peter.”
”What is that?” snapped the Consul savagely. The exclamation was like the crack of a flapping jib.
”You see, it's this way,” began Roddy. He started to explain elaborately. ”Peter and I belong to the Secret Order----”
”Stop!” thundered the Consul. ”I tell you I won't listen to you!”
The rebuff was most embarra.s.sing. Ignorant as to how he had offended the Consul, and uncertain as to whether the Consul had not offended him, Roddy helplessly rubbed his handkerchief over his perplexed and perspiring countenance. He wondered if, as a conspirator, he had not been lacking in finesse, if he had not been too communicative.
In the corner of the room, in a tin cage, a great green parrot, with its head c.o.c.ked on one side, had been regarding Roddy with mocking, malevolent eyes. Now, to further add to his discomfiture, it suddenly emitted a chuckle, human and contemptuous. As though choking with hidden laughter, the bird gurgled feebly, ”Polly, Polly.” And then, in a tone of stern disapproval, added briskly, ”You talk too much!” At this flank attack Roddy flushed indignantly. He began to wish he had brought Peter with him, to give him the proper signals.
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