“Where is the war chest?”
“Under the bed, Excellency.” The Minister went down on his knees, and dragged an iron-bound box to Garcia’s side.
“You may go now.”
When they were alone again, Garcia took a little key from his pocket, opened the box, and took out a bundle of bank-notes, which he threw on the table. Locking the box, he pushed it under the bed again, picked up the notes, and handed them to the Marquis.
“Count them afterwards, and pay me back in Lima, when I am President. There is enough there to bleach every Red Poncho in existence. They are gentlemen who know the value of those little pieces of paper. Oviedo Runtu himself probably taught them. Good-by, señor, and good luck.”
“Excellency,” said the Marquis, forgetting that a moment before he had called this man a murderer, “I do not thank you... but if I succeed...”
“Yes, yes, I know... your life and fortune are mine.”
“One word more. I shall try to bribe your troopers with the rest.”
“By all means! By all means!”
“And if we fail, Excellency, I warn you that weak as we are, desperate as the venture may be, we shall attack those priests and their escort. Can we count on your neutrality?”