“The road is closed, then, Sergeant?” he said.
“No, señor,” said the man. “Still, it is not very safe.”
“Not even as far as Santa Marta?”
The sergeant shook his head. “If you are going there I will send two files with you,” he said.
Appleby glanced at Harper, who clenched a big hand, and appeared to have some difficulty in restraining himself. “I don’t think we will trouble you,” he said. “You had instructions from the Colonel Morales?”
“He seemed anxious about your safety, señores,” said the man.
Appleby turned upon his heel, and walked back the way he had come with Harper, murmuring anathemas upon Morales beside him, until the sergeant was out of sight.
“I expected it!” he said.
“Well,” said Harper dryly, “this is not the only way out of the place. We’ll try another.”
They walked back to the hacienda, passed the sugar mill, and followed the little tram-line that wound through the cane until once more Harper came to a standstill, and his face grew a trifle grim. It was very hot, and the rails flung back the light dazzlingly between the tall green blades, but there was another suggestive blink of brightness among the long banana leaves in front of them.