The churchman glanced hastily over them; then handed them back with a smile.
“With certain modifications,” he said smoothly. “The terms on which peace is concluded will scarcely admit of––”
“Very well,” returned Ames quietly. “And now, La Libertad?”
Wenceslas laughed. “En manos muertas, my friend,” he replied. “It was your own idea.”
“And the emerald concession?”
“Impossible! A government monopoly, you know,” said His Grace easily. “You see, my friend, it is a costly matter to effect the escape of state prisoners. As things stand now, your little trick of last night quite protects me. For, first you instruct me, long ago, to place the weak little Josè in San Fernando; and I obey. Then you suffer a change of heart, and slip down here to release the man, who has become a state prisoner. That quite removes you from any claims upon us for a share of the spoils of war. I take it, you do not wish to risk exposure of your part in this four years’ carnage?”
Ames drew a sigh. Then he pulled himself together. “Wenceslas,” 258 he said, “I am not the man with whom you dealt in these matters. He is dead. I have but one thing more to say, and that is that I renounce all claims upon you and your Government, excepting one. La Libertad mine was owned by the Rincón family. It was rediscovered by old Rosendo, and the title transferred to his foster-daughter. Its possession must remain with her and her associates. There is no record, so you have informed me, to the effect that the Church possesses this mine.”
“But, my friend, there shall be such a record to-day,” laughed Wenceslas. “And, in your present situation, you will hardly care to contest it.”
Ames smiled. He now had the information which he had been seeking. The title to the famous mine lay still with the Simití company. He pressed the call-button attached to his chair. The door opened, and Don Jorge entered, leading the erstwhile little newsboy, Josè de Rincón, by the hand.
Wenceslas gasped, and staggered back. He knew not the man; but the boy was a familiar figure.