"Yes, Comrade," replied the girl; "but I am tired of napping. This inactivity is getting on my nerves."
"Mine, too," agreed the man.
"How much longer will you wait for the American, Comrade Zveri?" asked Raghunath Jafar.
The big man shrugged. "I need him," he replied. "We might easily carry on without him, but for the moral effect upon the world of having a rich and high-born American identified actively with the affair it is worth waiting."
"Are you quite sure of this gringo, Zveri?" asked a swarthy young Mexican sitting next to the big, smooth-faced man, who was evidently the leader of the expedition.
"I met him in New York and again in San Francisco," replied Zveri. "He has been very carefully checked and favorably recommended."
"I am always suspicious of these fellows who owe everything they have to capitalism," declared Romero. "It is in their blood—at heart they hate the proletariat, just as we hate them."
"This fellow is different, Miguel," insisted Zveri. "He has been won over so completely that he would betray his own father for the good of the cause—and already he is betraying his country."
A slight, involuntary sneer, that passed unnoticed by the others, curled the lip of Zora Drinov as she heard this description of the remaining member of the party, who had not yet reached the rendezvous.
Miguel Romero, the Mexican, was still unconvinced. "I have no use for gringos of any sort," he said.