It turned out that Captain Bolton had been making inquiries everywhere both for me and for Bryant; and Volheno had heard of the latter’s imprisonment and had been on the point of ordering his release when General Sama had communicated with him about me.
I told Bryant to hurry his breakfast and go down to the quay to send word to the skipper that we were both at liberty, and then drive to Miralda’s house for news of her, and bring me the result of his inquiry to my rooms.
Pia’s story was soon told. She had no living relatives. She and her only brother had lived together until he had been led to join the revolutionary party. His arrest had soon followed through the betrayal of a false friend who had tried to make love to her and in revenge for his defeat had betrayed him. The brother, feeble and delicate in health, had been questioned as to the plans and names of his companions, and Pia declared that his refusal to speak had been punished with the lash. He had died in prison, and this had driven her into hot rebellion against those whom she termed his murderers.
She had been hunted for by the police; but her arrest on the previous night had been an accident—she was caught as I had once been—in the thick of a fracas between the police and the people. She had not given her right name, but, feeling sure she would be identified, she looked forward to sharing the same fate as her brother.
This fact explained the readiness of the Governor to liberate her.
“You have no friends anywhere?” I asked.
“I have only one friend in the world; but when my brother was arrested, he had to fly for his life. That was almost on the eve of the day we were to have been married,” she said simply.
“And where is he?”
“In America.”
“That settles it then. You will go out to him.”