Get a Load of This

     “My name is George Quentin of the New York Post. This is my colleague, Mr. Morecombre, of the New York Daily. This is a very fortunate meeting.”

     The General raised his eyebrows. “That is a matter of opinion,” he said tartly. “What are you doing here? I understood all visitors had left the town.”

     “You're probably right,” Quentin returned, “but we are on business here.”

     “So I thought.” The General's eyes gleamed. “I'm afraid you both must consider yourselves under arrest. It is not good that newspaper men should be here at this time.”

     “Really, General,,” Quentin said, shaking his head, “you can't do that. We are American citizens, and we are entitled to remain here as long as we like. You have no power to arrest us, and I think you know it.”

     Fuentes touched his neat, close-clipped moustache with his fingers. “Owing to the present emergency,” he said, “the Government have special powers. I repeat, you both are under arrest. You are not to leave the hotel without permission. Should you fail to obey this order you will be shot without mercy.” He looked at the other two. “And this also applies to you.”

     Morecombre pushed himself out of his chair. “Say, listen, General,” he said, “you can't pull a thing like this. We're here to represent our papers, and we've got to have our freedom of movement.”

     Fuentes shrugged. “You can please yourself about that,” he said dryly. “I shall regret any accident, but you can't say that you were not warned.” He looked across to the manager. “Any other American in this hotel?” he demanded.

     The manager hesitated, but Quentin moved forward. “I can answer your question, General,” he said quietly. “There is a lady here, under my charge. She is going to the consul this morning.”

     Fuentes shook his head. “I don't think so. She will stay here. Where is she?”

     Quentin kept his temper with difficulty. “This attitude you're adopting isn't going to get you anywhere,” he said. “The lady missed the ship last night. She is entitled to go to the consul without interference.”

     Fuentes turned on his heel. “Come,” he said to the soldiers, “find this woman.”

     Quentin followed him out into the corridor. “As you're determined to play this little drama to its conclusion, I'll take you to her.”

     Fuentes eased his revolver slightly in its holster. “You have a great deal to say for yourself, haven't you?” he said. “I should be careful how you choose your words.”

     Quentin walked across to Myra's door and knocked. She came immediately, and stood looking first at him and then at the little General.

     Quentin said: “I'm afraid you will have to alter your plans, Miss Arnold. This is General Fuentes of the President's Army. He has just told me that all Americans in this building are under arrest and are not at liberty to leave. He has made it quite plain that should they do so, they will be shot.”

     Fuentes had been looking at Myra steadily. He made no attempt to disguise his admiration. He drew himself up and bowed. “I am exceedingly sorry that I must insist on you remaining in the hotel, senorita, but I shall be delighted to offer my services as host, if you will permit me. I understand the hotel is short of food, and I have plenty. It would afford me great pleasure if you took your meals with me.”

     Myra moved her head slightly, bringing the General in line with her vision. She studied him, her blue eyes slowly growing cold and her mouth hardening, but before she could speak, Quentin said gently: “I think that is generous of you, General, but Miss Arnold is in my charge. We are fortunate to have a stock of food, and she has her meals with us.”

     Fuentes smiled. He looked genuinely amused. “I am busy now,” he said, “there is much to be done. When I have a little spare time, I shall ask the senorita again.” He bowed, then added, “It would be absurd to refuse.” He turned on his heel and stalked down the passage. The two soldiers followed him and took up positions at the head of the stairs.

     Quentin pulled a face. “I'm afraid that guy is going to be difficult,” he said.

     Myra said: “But can't we phone to the consul? Surely we can't be held long!”

     “We couldn't get any calls through,” Quentin returned. “No doubt he has a man on the switchboard. I think, Miss Arnold, it would be safer for you if you came over and joined us in the other room.”

     Myra picked up a little white satin handbag. “I'm afraid I'm being a fearful nuisance,” she said; “it is very kind of you to bother with me.”