There was another pause.
"Time is flying. You have only four minutes left!"
It was impossible that I could listen to this sort of talk unmoved. He had the unfortunate woman at his mercy, and I knew him well enough by this time to feel convinced that as soon as he had extracted his information from her he would throw his promises to the wind, and carry out the infamous project of which Manuel had spoken to Palmyre. He knew well that even if he killed Fernandez and allowed her to go free she would begin to intrigue against him. His insinuation that she should return from Europe to him in Equinata was only a subterfuge to prevent her becoming suspicious as to his real intentions.
"Three minutes gone!"
The Señorita said nothing in reply, but although I could not see her I could very well imagine the agony she was suffering. The memory of the night we had spent together in the balcony of the Opera House at La Gloria came back to me. Then I took my revolver from my pocket, and gave the magazine a turn to see that it was in working order.
Once more Silvestre spoke.
"Time is up," he said. "I will call Palmyre and give the necessary orders about Fernandez."
"No, no," she cried in the expostulation of despair. "Take my life—kill me! But for the Blessed Virgin's sake, let him go free."
"Will you give me the information?" was Silvestre's reply.
The Señorita uttered a little cry as if she were suffering physical pain.