"I must admit that I have information which partly bears out what has been said about the native woman Anita," he said. "If this assurance is not sufficient she could be examined later. I have,"—and he looked hard at Ormsgill—"at least no cause to be prejudiced in the prisoner's favor. In the meanwhile one might ask if he can think of nobody else who would support what he has said?"
"No," said Ormsgill dryly, "as I mentioned, most of those concerned are dead."
He saw Dom Clemente glance at the man opposite him who smiled.
"There is one point on which we have not touched," said the latter, who turned to Ormsgill. "How did you get the first eight boys you say you set free out of the country?"
"That," said Ormsgill, "is a thing I can not tell you. It was, at least, not with the connivance of anybody in the city."
Dom Clemente made a little sign to his secretary, who went out, and there was silence for a while. The room was very hot, and Ormsgill felt himself aching in every limb. He had been standing for half an hour now, and his leg was becoming painful. Then there were footsteps outside, and he gasped with astonishment as a black soldier led Desmond in. The latter, however, turned to the officers.
"You have had me brought here against my will, gentlemen, and it is very possible that you will have grounds for regretting it," he said in English. "It would be a favor if you will tell me what you want?"
The gentleman at the head of the table leaned forward in his chair. "A little information—in the meanwhile," he said quietly. "You recognize the prisoner yonder?"
Dom Clemente translated, and Desmond carefully looked Ormsgill over.
"Well," he said, "I have certainly met him before—in Las Palmas—and other places. He doesn't seem to have thriven since then."