“You have heard all I have to tell you,” said Appleby. “I cannot embroil the Señor Harding with Morales.”
Maccario rose, and smiled at Harper. “It saves trouble when one has an understanding; and now, my friends, I will show you something. The major-domo had orders not to send up anybody without announcing him, but he admitted me. Will you come out with me into the veranda?”
“Put your pistol up, Harper,” said Appleby; but Maccario shook his head.
“Not yet, I think,” he said. “Open that lattice so the light shines through. Will you send for the men I mention, Don Bernardino?”
They did as he directed, and when they went out into the veranda Appleby blew a whistle. It was answered by a patter of feet, and Appleby spoke swiftly when a man appeared below.
“I have sent for the men. They are among the best we have, and supported me when I had a difference with the rest,” he said.
Maccario smiled. “They did as they were told, my friend.”
Appleby could not see his face because the light from the room was behind them, but his tone was significant, and he waited in some astonishment until the patter of feet commenced again, and half-seen men flitted into the patio. The latter could, however, see the men above them, for a threatening murmur went up when they caught the glint of Harper’s pistol, and two of them came running to the foot of the stairway. Maccario laughed, and laid his hand on Harper’s shoulder. Then the murmurs died away, and the men stood still below, while Maccario turned with a little nod to Appleby.
“One would fancy they would do what I wished,” he said. “The Sin Verguenza have, it seems, friends everywhere. It is permissible for one to change his mind.”
“Yes,” said Appleby, who hid his astonishment by an effort. “Still, in this case you have not been as wise as usual, Don Maccario. There are men who become more obdurate when you try to intimidate them. You have already heard my decision.”