"Then I threw the dagger....
"The hand of Alberto de Sanchez was raised as though to ward off the death now upon him; but the silver blade sped across the light-well like a lightning from the clouds; and even as I aimed it, so did it strike. I saw it sticking there; I saw the horror and the brilliance die suddenly from his eyes, like the turning down of a lamp; I saw his knees give way; he began to fall—and I knew that Alberto de Sanchez was a dead man.
"Truly had the serpent's tooth stung the lying betrayer; the false heart had been stilled forever by the symbol of its faithless love."
CHAPTER III
WHICH IS THE LAST
As for General Westbrook, Castillo protested that he had meant in the end to spare his life, but that the former had himself precipitated the tragedy. On the night the two met in the lobby of the La Salle House, Castillo overheard Slade cursing the General beneath his breath, and at once the idea dawned in his mind to use the abstracter as a tool. Irrefutable evidence of the one-time banking firm's illegal disposition of Don Juan's estate had been prepared by Castillo, and this evidence was placed in Slade's possession, leading directly to an outcome which neither could have expected.
In the meantime Castillo had put in operation his scheme against the General, by having Dolores write and direct to him letters of such a nature that the recipient would be apprised of the fact that his wrongdoing was known to others, while he remained ignorant of their identity. It was a move calculated to fill him with an extremity of fear and apprehension. In fact, his alarm was so intense that it drove him to seek out Vargas—as he supposed Castillo to be—in the hope of hearing something of "Paquita and Fernando." At this interview Castillo disclosed his identity, and General Westbrook, in a panic of terror, staggered from the hotel. Later he addressed a frantic appeal to the other to come to his study at midnight—the night that proved to be the last for him.
"The Señor General was writing at his table," said Castillo of this occasion, "waiting and watching for me. I crossed the gallery without noise, and beheld him before he could see me, I being in the dark. He had twisted his chair around so that it faced the window, which was like a door.
"How nervous the gallant Señor General was! When I advanced, unannounced, into the square of light before the window, he was so startled that he sprang from his chair, colliding with it as he moved backward, tripping over its legs so that he would have fallen had it not been waiting to receive him again.
"'This is not the ghost of Fernando del Castillo, señor,' I said; 'perhaps it would be pleasanter for you if it were—si?' But he composed himself quickly. He was still white and worn; still nervous and distracted; still a very old, broken man; but he did not forget that he was beneath his own roof, and that a visitor was trusting to his hospitality.... 'Enter, Don Fernando,' said he, in his grandest manner, 'I cannot express in words my appreciation of your courtesy in responding to my request. Enter.' And I advanced into the room.... 'You may show it,' said I, 'by telling me quickly why I am so honored.' With a breaking voice he said: 'Señor, señor, this night I pray God to soften your heart. 'T is not for myself—no, no! God knows it is not; but my wife—my daughter—my son—think of them; think of the humiliation and disgrace more bitter than death. Do not spare me, but pity them.' ... 'Were you so immersed in thought of them,' I asked, 'were you so solicitous of their welfare, that you failed to hear me pleading for my dying sister?' ... 'You do not understand,' he moaned; 'you do not understand. It is of that that I desire to speak. Hear me.' ... 'I shall be happy to hear you,' said I. I was seated close by the open window, and I made myself comfortable to hear his tale.