But before Angelo could begin his little story, Nolan came springing up the steps, and knew in a word all they had to tell.
“Sit down now, Nolan, and listen. Angelo thinks he knows something.”
“Well, when Carranza got in, a lot of Mexicans had to get out. Political refugees they call them. Marie is one of them.”
“That is no secret,” said Eveley. “She told me that herself. And it is nothing to her discredit—rather the opposite I should think.”
“Yes, but they are looking ahead to the next election. That guy Obregon has promised to let all the refugees come back free and easy if he is elected, and no questions asked. But they’ve got such a lot running for president, that maybe they won’t elect anybody and then Carranza will stick on himself. And so the refugees on this side are working up a new little revolution of their own, to spring on Carranza the day after the election. And that is against the law, and the Secret Service is on to it, and after them hot and heavy.”
“The Secret Service,” said Eveley slowly. “The Secret Service.”
She crossed the room, and from her bag took out a small bit of steel which she had carried there for weeks.
“The Secret Service,” she said again, and held the badge tightly in her hand.
“What have you there, Eveley?” asked Nolan.
“Nothing,” she said, gripping it so tightly the sharp edges cut into her hand. “Just a little souvenir—of Marie. That is all.”