“Whatever is to be done, they are merely the agents of some one else,” cogitated Hal, his mind as busy as his tongue was idle. “Vasquez bragged about his agents. Are these some of them? If so, they [are] not a lot to boast about!”
His reflections were cut short by the sound of the wheels of an arriving carriage.
Then steps sounded in a hallway, next at the door.
The door opened, to give entrance to Senor Vasquez, as Hal had expected.
As the Spaniard’s burning gaze fell upon the boy, his face darkened, though his lips smiled.
“Good-evening, Senor Maynard,” was his greeting. “Did you think that you had seen the last of me?”
“Hardly,” gritted Hal. “I have always heard that the devil is more busy than successful.”
“Take a seat, senor,” urged Vasquez, pushing forward one of the few chairs in the room. “As to you, my good fellows,” turning to the four thugs who had vanquished Hal, “you may step just outside the door.”
As almost anything was more comfortable than the floor, Hal availed himself of the chair.
Next he turned a look of cool scrutiny upon the Spaniard.