Veneda almost shouted in his surprise. In a second all sorts of treachery had flashed through his brain.
"Gone!" he cried. "What the devil do you mean? Where's she gone?"
"Who knows?" the other replied airily, giving his narrow shoulders a slight shrug. "I allow it's her own business where she goes, not mine, thank God."
In three strides Veneda was beside him, and had clapped a revolver to his head.
"Look here, my uncivil friend," he said, "I don't want to make trouble in this house for my own sake, but if you don't tell me what you know, I swear I'll blow your brains out where you stand. That's cold-drawn biz, I reckon."
The man was silent for a moment, then a nervous little laugh came from under the sombrero.
"Marcos, do you think I am well enough disguised?"
It was Juanita!
Veneda could scarcely credit his senses, the deception was so perfect. But his admiration for her acting did not prevent his drawing her towards the door, whispering as he did so—
"It's wonderful! No one could possibly recognize you in than get-up. Now we must fairly jump for the harbour, or we'll be too late."