"Thanks," Carson said coolly. "I'm not pressed for time—and I notice that you have been cooking. I wonder if I might ask for some supper?"
"All we have is at your service, señor," Blanca answered with Spanish politeness. "But we'd better put out the light."
She extinguished the lamp, and they gathered round the cooking pot, the men sitting on the earth floor with the red glow of the burning charcoal on their faces. It could not be seen many yards away, and Grahame's view commanded the path to the door. Blanca divided the omelette she had made, and afterward gave them some black coffee and a bundle of cigarettes.
"These are Habaneros and should be good," she said. "As they belong to a friend of the President's we need not hesitate about using them."
She sat down beside Walthew, and they smoked in silence for a while. Blanca was studying Carson's face as it was lighted by the glow from the charcoal.
"Why did you help Altiera?" she asked him suddenly.
"Commercial interest. He has given us one or two trading privileges. And he seemed to think I had a pretty good chance of getting through."
"Do you know what his orders to Gomez were?"
Grahame had wondered when she meant to ask this, and had left it to her, feeling that she was more likely to catch the messenger off his guard.