“No,” said Maccario plaintively. “There are also so many detentions and questions to be answered that it is difficult to make a business journey.”
Morales laughed, “It is as usual—you would ask for something? Still, they are good cigars!”
“I would venture to ask an endorsement of my cedula. With that one could travel with less difficulty.”
He brought out the strip of paper, and Morales turned to Appleby. “This gentlemen is a friend of yours?”
Appleby nodded, and the officer scribbled across the back of the cedula, and then, flinging it on the table, rose with a faint shrug of impatience.
“A word with you in private!” he said.
Appleby went out with him into the veranda, and set his lips for a moment when he saw, though Morales did not, a stealthy shadow flit out of it. He also surmised there were more men lurking in the patio beneath, and felt that a disaster was imminent if Maccario’s apprehensions led him to do anything precipitate. Then it seemed scarcely likely that the colonel of cazadores would leave the place alive. Still, his voice did not betray him.
“I am at your service, señor.” he said.
“The affair is serious,” said Morales dryly. “I am informed that there are arms concealed in your factory. Ten cases of them, I understand, are in your store shed.”
If he had expected any sign of consternation he did not see it, for Appleby smiled incredulously.