Fixing his eyes now upon me with a penetrating glance, whilst, at the same time, a kind of smile played about his sarcastic mouth, implying, “now you understand perfectly what I mean,” he very deliberately and significantly asked, “Is he to be ... bought?”
“No, señor,” said I, “I think not. He hates your nation from the bottom of his soul; and, if you have any dealings with him, be assured you will find but a nest where you think to get birds.”
“And what is your name, friend?”
“Jacobo Vargas,” I replied, giving him the name of my lieutenant.
“I can.”
“Then do me the favour to write your name on this paper.”
I did so.
“Do you know one Beltran Galindiz?” continued my interrogator.
“Yes, by character.”