“Entonces, por dos horas.”
El Rojo laid down his rifle and untied the Saint’s hands, but Simon noticed that he picked up the gun again at once, and that he kept it always within easy reach. The Saint understood the symptom well enough not to be disturbed by it. He lighted a cigarette and stretched himself out comfortably beside the fire and beside Teresa Alvarez, while the night closed down like a purple blanket and El Rojo brought out the bread and cheese and sausage and coarse red wine which are the staple fare in the mountains.
He said presently, “I take it that you have ideas about ransom.”
The bandit shrugged.
“I regret the necessity. But I am a poor man, and you must be charitable. Let us say that it was unlucky that you chose to travel this way.”
“But we were looking for you,” said Teresa.
El Rojo stopped with a knife-load of cheese halfway to his mouth.
“For me?”
“Yes,” she said. “I wanted to see you, and this gentleman was good enough to help me. We were not unlucky. We came here on purpose.”
“You pay me an unusual compliment, señorita. Could one ask what I have done to deserve such a distinguished honor?”