“Donna Antonia,” she replied. “He’s getting very fond of her, and depend upon it, if he’s in trouble he’ll go and tell her the first thing. Mr. Carr is very confidential to his friends.”
We recognized the value of this suggestion. If Donna Antonia knew, the President would soon know.
“Quite right,” said the colonel. “It won’t do to have them rushing about letting out that we know all about it. He’s all right up to now.”
“Yes, but if he gets restive to-morrow morning?” said I. “And then you don’t want him at the Golden House on Friday evening, and I don’t want him at the barracks.”
“No, he’d show fight, Carr would,” said the colonel. “Look here, we’re in for this thing, and I’m going through with it. I shall keep Carr at my house till it’s all over.”
“How?” asked the signorina.
“By love, if possible!” said the colonel, with a grin—“that is, by drink. Failing that, by force. It’s essential that the old man shouldn’t get wind of anything being up; and if Carr told him about last night he’d prick up his wicked old ears. No, Master Johnny is better quiet.”
“Suppose he turns nasty,” I suggested again.
“He may turn as nasty as he likes,” said the colonel. “He don’t leave my house unless he puts a bullet into me first. That’s settled. Leave it to me. If he behaves nicely, he’ll be all right. If not—”
“What shall you do to him?” asked the signorina.