Part 21 (1/2)
”I cannot,” she answered in a heart-broken voice; ”and yet, oh Heaven!
I cannot let you kill him.”
”You must decide one way or the other,” he said remorselessly, ”and you'd also better be quick about it. My patience is well nigh exhausted.”
There was another interval of silence.
”Will you let me see Senor Fernandez for a moment before I give you my answer?” she pleaded.
”Not for an instant,” he replied. ”You must have known what answer I should give you when you put the question. I know Senor Fernandez too well to allow you two to meet. I see it is half-past ten! Now I will give you five minutes in which to make up your mind, and if you don't tell me what I want to know then, I will carry out my threat and Fernandez will finish his career at daybreak.”
She uttered a piteous little cry, followed by an appeal for mercy.
”Don't talk to me of mercy,” he answered. ”What mercy did he show me?
What mercy would he have for me if our positions were reversed? He would have shot me like a dog. Bear the fact in mind, Senorita, that if he comes to an untimely end you will be responsible for it!”
There was another pause.
”Time is flying. You have only four minutes left!”
It was impossible that I could listen to this sort of talk unmoved. He had the unfortunate woman at his mercy, and I knew him well enough by this time to feel convinced that as soon as he had extracted his information from her he would throw his promises to the wind, and carry out the infamous project of which Manuel had spoken to Palmyre.
He knew well that even if he killed Fernandez and allowed her to go free she would begin to intrigue against him. His insinuation that she should return from Europe to him in Equinata was only a subterfuge to prevent her becoming suspicious as to his real intentions.
”Three minutes gone!”
The Senorita said nothing in reply, but although I could not see her I could very well imagine the agony she was suffering. The memory of the night we had spent together in the balcony of the Opera House at La Gloria came back to me. Then I took my revolver from my pocket, and gave the magazine a turn to see that it was in working order.
Once more Silvestre spoke.
”Time is up,” he said. ”I will call Palmyre and give the necessary orders about Fernandez.”
”No, no,” she cried in the expostulation of despair. ”Take my life--kill me! But for the Blessed Virgin's sake, let him go free.”
”Will you give me the information?” was Silvestre's reply.
The Senorita uttered a little cry as if she were suffering physical pain.
”And send them to their deaths? No, no, I should be less than human if I were to do that.”
”Fernandez will be less than human if you do not,” was the other's brutal response. ”Permit me, and I will call Palmyre.”
As he said this, I turned to the man behind me and signalled that I was about to enter the room. Then, revolver in hand, I strode in.
”That will do, Silvestre,” I cried, covering him with the revolver as I approached him.
”Good heavens! you here?” he shouted, as if he found it difficult to believe the evidence of his own eyes. The Senorita was leaning against the table with a look of bewildered astonishment upon her face.
”As you see, I have returned,” I answered. ”But I have not time to discuss that matter with you now. I give you fair warning that if you speak again I shall shoot. Sit down in that chair and put your hands behind you!”
With an oath Silvestre complied with my request.
Turning to Matthews, I signed to him to carry out the work we had previously arranged. In less time than it takes to tell, Don Guzman de Silvestre was securely fastened in his chair, a gag had been placed in his mouth, and it was then out of his power to do any mischief. From the expression upon his face I could gather some notion of what his feelings were. It was very evident that if I should have the misfortune to fall into his hands again I should be likely to receive but little mercy from him. As soon as he was secure, and I had abstracted the key of the block-house from his pocket, I turned to the lady.