“It seemed to me you might have concluded that the decision you made was a trifle hasty, Senor Appleby,” he said.
“You gave me no opportunity of changing it,” said Appleby as quietly as he could, though he realized that his voice was not quite his usual one. “In any case I do not see what I gain. We are under sentence, and one has usually a motive for what he does in Cuba.”
Morales glanced at him steadily with keen dark eyes, and Appleby wondered whether he had assumed too great an eagerness by suggesting that he might be willing to treat with a man who had hitherto found him obdurate. Then the officer smiled.
“It is evident that the man who passed the sentence could commute it,” he said.
Appleby appeared to reflect. He did not know what was going on below, but he desired at least to hold Morales’ attention until the change of the guard.
“Of course!” he said. “Still, he had apparently no intention of doing so. It seems to me we are under no obligation to Colonel Morales in one respect.”
“No?” and Morales’ smile was sardonic.
Appleby shook his head. “I fancy that we owe rather more to certain disaffected cazadores,” he said. “That little display was, of course, unexpected.”
He saw the dark eyes flash, but next moment the officer’s face was once more expressionless.
“One cannot foresee everything, but I think there will not be another display of the kind,” he said. “Well, I will make an admission. Would it astonish you to hear that, in spite of the sentence, it was not intended that you should face the firing party?”