Terrible as this statement was, it was made quietly, without the least trace of a desire to parade misery.
Tears glistened in Hal Maynard’s eyes. He was about to speak when Ramirez cut him short by whispering:
“I find that this door behind us opens. That is fortunate, for otherwise we would perhaps be captured.”
Silently both moved into the hallway. Trying not even to breathe, they listened as a score of Spanish regulars or volunteers marched by.
Only a few yards further on they heard the command halt. Then followed a dialogue between an officer and a belated pedestrian.
It was soon evident that the latter could not give a satisfactory account of himself, for they heard the officer break in sharply:
“Enough! Step in between the files. You shall tell the rest of your story at the Prefatura.”
Tramp, tramp! sounded the squad, marching on again. Ramirez listened until long after Hal had heard the last footfall.
Then the door was opened once more, and the pair stole out to the sidewalk.
“We are safe,” breathed Ramirez. “Walk quickly for a minute, and you will be aboard your ship.”