“I heard, both this morning and yesterday, from confidential agents of mine, that a great many rumours are circulating all over the district and that the people are evidently up to some mischief or other. But one can't find out the details; if one could it would be easier to take precautions. And for my part, after the fright we had the other day, I prefer to be on the safe side. With such a cunning fox as Rivarez one can't be too careful.”
“The last I heard about Rivarez was that he was too ill to move or speak. Is he recovering, then?”
“He seems much better now, Your Eminence. He certainly has been very ill—unless he was shamming all the time.”
“Have you any reason for supposing that likely?”
“Well, the doctor seems convinced that it was all genuine; but it's a very mysterious kind of illness. Any way, he is recovering, and more intractable than ever.”
“What has he done now?”
“There's not much he can do, fortunately,” the Governor answered, smiling as he remembered the straps. “But his behaviour is something indescribable. Yesterday morning I went into the cell to ask him a few questions; he is not well enough yet to come to me for interrogation—and indeed, I thought it best not to run any risk of the people seeing him until he recovers. Such absurd stories always get about at once.”
“So you went there to interrogate him?”
“Yes, Your Eminence. I hoped he would be more amenable to reason now.”
Montanelli looked him over deliberately, almost as if he had been inspecting a new and disagreeable animal. Fortunately, however, the Governor was fingering his sword-belt, and did not see the look. He went on placidly: