“The paper. The pencil, which the Lady Jess holds in her hand. One moment, that to me, if the senorita pleases.”
“I brought these for my little shopping trip, which I’m to take with Mr. Sharp. I can’t give them to you, but I’ll lend, for a moment. Here they are. Be quick.”
Antonio seized the pencil and rapidly sketched upon the pad a few dots and lines, suggesting a zigzag road and stations upon it. At the starting point he wrote “Marion,” and at the end “Sobrante.” Midway, and well to the north, where a curving course indicated an arroyo he marked “El Desierto.”
Then he looked up, and Jessica reached forward to take back her possessions.
But with what he considered great chaft and cunning he thrust them behind him and smiled grimly:
“The promise, senorita. First the promise; ‘I will plead for the liberty of Senor Antonio Bernal, so help me––’”
Unperceived by the artful manager, Ninian Sharp had entered the room from a rear door. He was tired of waiting for the interview to end and had overheard most of it from the outer room. He now quietly stretched out his own hand and possessed himself of the rude map, and then as quietly and instantly withdrew with it, calling as he did so:
“Come on, Lady Jess. Time’s up. So is Antonio’s little game; yet, thanks, senor, for playing it so openly, Good-day. Adios. Farewell. Et cetera. Au revoir and all the rest. We’ll show you that title deed–if we find it!”