"Well, after I left Silvestre, I had the misfortune—or the good fortune—as you may consider it, to miss my way. How I came to do so I am unable to say. It is sufficient that I did. You know how thick the jungle is up there! Well! instead of taking the track that brings one down to where we embark, I branched off to the left, and found myself stranded in as thick a bit of scrub as ever I have seen in my life. It was hot enough to roast the scalp on your head, and I was just beginning to think of turning back, when I heard a voice come from thick bushes on my right. 'Hulloa, what on earth is he doing there?' I said to myself, for I recognized it as belonging to Manuel, the half-caste. The words I heard him utter made me more than a bit suspicious."
"What was it he said?" I inquired.
"'You can do it easily, nobody will ever find out,'" Ferguson replied. "'But I can't, I can't,' a woman's voice answered. It was old Palmyre, the negress, who spoke. 'You'd better do it, or he'll cut your throat as he would a pig's,' Manuel continued. 'Why do you argue about the matter? You know very well that you are out here gathering the herbs yourself.' 'But their spirits will haunt me,' cried the old woman. That made me all attention, you may be sure. The half-caste uttered an oath in reply. The spirit that would haunt him would have to be a fairly potent one. 'What does it matter,' he went on; 'you will be well paid for it.' For a few seconds nothing more was said, but as I listened I heard something that sounded very like a sob. Whatever he was trying to persuade the old negress to do, it was very plain that she did not relish the job. Presently she whispered, 'When must it be done?' 'As soon as Silvestre leaves in the yacht,' the other replied. 'What difficulty is there in it? All you have to do is to stew the herbs and to slip them into their food. You'll be a rich woman for the rest of your life.' After that they moved further away from me, and I came down to the boat."
"Good heavens!" I cried, the awful truth coming to me in a flash. "Silvestre intends to poison them."
"There is not much doubt about that," said Ferguson. "When you are out of the way and he has left for Equinata, the Señorita and President will never trouble him or any one else again. And as far as I can see nothing can save them!"
"It's too horrible! It's devilish," I cried, springing to my feet. "He took his oath to me that not a hair of their heads should be harmed."
"He wished you to take his words literally, you see," Ferguson returned. "He said nothing about giving each of them a dose of poison. Look at the matter from his point of view. As long as they live they are his enemies and he is not safe. He owes Fernandez a deadly grudge and he means to pay it."
"But what is to be done? We cannot let them be murdered in cold blood. Human nature couldn't stand that. And yet if he knows that we are aware of his plot, he will take means to prevent our interfering and kill them out of hand. For God's sake, Ferguson, advise me!"
"I don't see exactly what we can do," he replied sorrowfully. "Silvestre has got us in a cleft stick and we can't help ourselves."
"But surely you are not going to stand by and allow him to carry out his fiendish plot?" I returned hotly. "I can't believe that of you!"