Get a Load of This

     He found himself wondering what had happened on the previous night. Why she was unescorted? How she came to miss the ship. All day she had been very silent. Obviously she was grateful to them for offering her hospitality, but there it ended. She had erected a barrier which neither Morecombre nor he could break through. In the long hours of waiting and listening for something to happen, both the men would have been glad to have been on their own. This constant small talk that led nowhere and social politeness which neither found to his mood had become irksome. Quentin found himself wishing that she would go away, but she had sat quietly in the chair all the long afternoon, speaking when spoken to, but otherwise retaining a brooding silence.

     Both the men had given up finally in despair, and for the past hour there was a heavy strained silence, broken only by the rustle of a turning page and the creak of a chair, as Morecombre shifted from one position to another.

     Suddenly from out of the darkness came three rifle-shots. They sounded very close. Morecombre sprang to his feet. “Did you hear that?” he asked, rather unnecessarily.

     Quentin was already up and crossed the room to turn out the light. Then he stumbled over to the window and peered out. But for the flickering lights on the waterfront he could see nothing. They listened in the darkness. Faintly they could hear someone shouting, and then two more shots sounded. This time they caught a glimpse of the flash from a rifle. It was just outside the hotel.

     “Maybe the sentry's gettin' the wind-up,” Quentin said. “I noticed a man at the gate this afternoon.”

     Morecombre fumed. “He must be shooting at something,” he said, going out on to the verandah.

     Quentin reached forward and jerked him back. “Keep off there, Bill,” he advised. “In this moonlight you'd be quite a target.”

     Morecombre hastily stepped into the room and put on the light again. “Well, I suppose this is about all we can do,” he said irritably, “just sit around and wonder. I tell you I'm getting mighty fed up with doing nothing.”

     The door jerked open, and a young lieutenant walked in. Behind him stood two soldiers, their rifles hovering in the direction of the two Americans. “You'll pardon me,” the Lieutenant said in careful English, “for interrupting you.”

     Quentin said, “What was that shooting?”

     The Lieutenant shrugged. “A little disturbance. It is purely a local affair. I assure you it is well in hand by now.”

     Quentin concealed his impatience. “Well, Lieutenant, what can I do for you?”

     The Lieutenant glanced round the room until his eyes rested on Myra. A thin little smile came to his sharp-featured face, and he bowed from the waist. “General Fuentes presents his compliments, and wishes you to dine with him,” he said.

     Myra lifted her chin. “Will you thank the General and tell him that I have already dined?”

     There was a long pause. The Lieutenant stood, the thin smile still on his mouth, his eyes slowly travelling over her with appraising, insolent stare.

     Quentin said quietly, “Is that all?”

     The Lieutenant ignored him. He said to Myra: “Senorita doesn't understand. This is—how shall I put it?—a command invitation, yes?”

     Quentin eased his way between the Lieutenant and Myra. “Perhaps I could make things a little easier for you, Lieutenant,” he said. “Miss Arnold does not wish to dine with the General. She has already dined and she prefers to stay here under my protection.”

     The Lieutenant appeared to see him for the first time. He gave an elaborate start. “Senor would be advised not to interfere in this matter,” he said. “Escaping prisoners are unfortunately shot.” He looked significantly at the two soldiers. “I am sure senorita would not wish to be the cause of such a distressing occurrence?”

     Quentin said: “You're bluffing. Miss Arnold stays here with me.”

     Myra suddenly stood up. “No,” she said, “I will go. He is quite right. It would be absurd for you to be hurt because of me. You have important work to do. I will come with you,” she said, turning to the Lieutenant.

     At a sign from him, the two soldiers took a step forward, bringing their rifles to the ready.

     “One movement from either of these men,” the Lieutenant said sharply, “you are to shoot them like dogs. Come, senorita, let us have no more of this play-acting.” He stepped to the door and jerked it open.

     Myra hesitated, then walked out quietly. The Lieutenant followed her, shutting the door behind her.

     He overtook her in the passage. “The General has a suite on the second floor to this,” he said; “you would be advised to be as accommodating as possible to the General. He is a man who has what he wants and it is unfortunate that he has—what shall I say?”—he flicked his fingers impatiently—“no finesse, is that the word? You understand, senorita?”

     Myra stopped and faced him. “Am I to understand that you are acting in the capacity of a procurer, Lieutenant?” she said coldly.