"Yes," the Ambassador admitted. "Things are pretty quiet."
"Will it be as quiet when Tabio dies? I heard talk that the Gamburdo crowd is pretty close to the fascists."
"Gamburdo?" Skidmore grew both amused and indignant. "What kind of communistic nonsense have you been hearing? I know Eduardo Gamburdo intimately. I've entertained him at the Embassy, and I've week-ended at his estate. He's a fine conservative influence on this government and, damn it all, young man, Gamburdo is a thorough gentleman."
"Yeah," Hall said. "Thorough." For a few seconds, during the luncheon, he had toyed with the idea of telling the Ambassador all that he knew about Gamburdo and Ansaldo and the role of the Falange. Now he cursed himself for a fool. Skidmore, he saw, was Orville Smith at sixty, but with the power to make trouble for any visiting American who rubbed against his deep-set prejudices. "Well, thanks for everything," he said. "I guess you're pretty busy today."
Hall rushed out of the Embassy, his face twitching crazily as he charged down the marble walk to the curb. He had broken into a heavy sweat which drenched him from head to toe. "Get me out of here," he roared at Pepe. "Get going before I kill someone."
"What happened?" Pepe asked.
"Nothing. Where are we going?"
"Nowhere. What's the matter with your face?"
"Nothing." He put his hand against his right cheek. "Nothing. Did you see Gonzales?"
"I gave him the letter. He said you should go to the opening of Congress today. He says you might be surprised."