Get a Load of This

     Quentin eyed her thoughtfully. She didn't realize just how much of a nuisance she was going to be. Fuentes had obviously fallen for her in a big way, and when Cuban generals fall for nice-looking girls, they don't stop at patting their hands. At the best of times a swell looker is out of place in a revolution, but when she's parked right in the stronghold of one of the big shots, the mug who undertakes to protect her might just as well make out his will. There wasn't much Quentin could do. They were all in the hotel as prisoners, so he might just as well offer her his protection as not. There was no side-stepping the issue.

     He introduced her to Morecombre, who seemed rather awestruck at her beauty. Anita went over by the window and watched Myra out of the corner of her eye. She was smart enough to know that she didn't stand much chance with the two Americans so long as this girl was around.

     Quentin poured Myra out a cup of coffee and Morecombre hastily prepared breakfast for her. She sat in a chair, rather tense, rather hostile, and a little frightened.

     “I don't know how long we shall be here, but we must watch the grub,” Quentin said. He looked over at the manager. “You'd better get downstairs and see if they've taken over the hotel services. If not, see what you can do about hustling up some more grub.” He swung round to Anita. “I want an outfit for senorita right away. She can't live in these clothes she has. Go and rake up something.” He went over and slipped twenty dollars into Anita's hand.

     She looked at it, bit her lip and then handed it back. “I don't need the money to do that,” she said. “She can have some of my clothes. Would that do?”

     Quentin hooked his finger in the front of her dress and dropped the note into the hollow. “Yeah,” he said, with his big, lazy grin, “that'll do fine. Take the dough, baby; you might need it one of these days.”

     She went out of the room without smiling at him.

     As soon as she had gone and they were alone, he said: “Now we've got a moment to ourselves, we might as well consider our position. Quite frankly, I don't like it too much.”

     “What are you beefing about?” Morecombre asked. “We're all right, ain't we?”

     “For the time being,” Quentin agreed, “but if trouble starts we shall be between two fires. If the natives come here and succeed in forcing an entry, everyone will be knocked off, including we three. If they don't get in, Fuentes might think it a good idea to get rid of us rather than risk us raising the dust about being arrested like this.”

     “For Gawd's sake,” Morecombre said, staring, “he wouldn't do that?”

     Quentin shrugged. “He might. Then there is Miss Arnold here. She's in rather a difficult position. Apparently the General has got ideas about her—ideas which will take a little checking.”

     Myra shivered. “What am I going to do?” she asked.

     “That's what we've got to think about. Did you bring a gun with you, Bill?”

     Morecombre nodded. “Yeah,” he said, “I always carry one. Did you?”

     Quentin patted his pocket. “I don't say we'll get anywhere with rough stuff, but it's nice to know, in case we have to start something.” He went to the window and looked down at the deserted waterfront. “No one about,” he said. “It looks as if something is blowing up. You can't hear a sound. I'm willing to bet that any moment the lid's coming off.”

     Morecombre crossed over and stood just behind him, looking over his shoulder. Myra hesitated, put her coffee-cup down and joined them.

     Quentin said unemotionally, “Look, it's starting”—he pointed down. “Good God, Bill, we ought to be down there. We ought to get to a telephone. Look over there. Do you see those guys coming out of that house? Look, they're carrying rifles. They're not soldiers... they're dockers. Dockers with rifles.... I told you how it'd be. There they go. Nothing's going to happen until they run into the soldiers... that's when the lid will come off.”

     “Anyway, I can get pictures,” Morecombre said. “I'm mighty glad I brought the telescopic attachment with me.” He rushed across the room and feverishly began setting up his camera.

     Myra edged closer to Quentin. “Do you really think there will be fighting?” she asked.

     Quentin didn't take his eyes off the little group of men making their way cautiously along the waterfront. “I guess so,” he said shortly. “Those guys are itching to let those cannons off.... I don't blame them really.”

     Morecombre came back and set up the camera on a short-legged tripod. He hastily made adjustments, focusing on the men below. From where they stood they had an uninterrupted view of the whole of the winding waterfront.

     Quentin stepped back into the room. “It would be as well to keep out of sight as much as possible,” he said to Myra. “These guys are going to shoot at anything.”