The tobacco merchant smiled. “Then one would fancy, señor, that some of them had mutinied.”
Morales said nothing for a moment, and Appleby surmised that he was wondering how many of his men had remained loyal. Then he made a little impatient gesture.
“Well,” he said, “what do you want from me?”
“A very little thing, señor. No more than the liberty of a certain peon, Domingo Pereira. I do not ask the freedom of these friends of mine. That, as you can comprehend, is unnecessary.”
A little gleam crept into the officer’s dark eyes. “It is a trifle difficult to understand why you place yourself under an obligation to me in respect to the peon Pereira. If there is a mutiny in the cuartel, why not take him?”
“It is simple. The affair is one that we wish to arrange quietly, but there are one or two sections who will take no part with us, and the Sergeant Suarez is an obdurate loyalist. All we ask is an order for the handing over of the prisoner to the guard. That, since it will not be known when they mutinied, will cast no discredit upon the Colonel Morales.”
“And if I should not think fit to sign it?”
The tobacco merchant shrugged his shoulders. “One would recommend you to reflect,” he said. “Between two Spanish gentlemen who have no wish for unpleasantness that should be sufficient. Still, you see before you three determined men and you have proof that your guard has mutinied. It is convenient that you write the order.”
“You want nothing more?”
“No, señor. To be frank, my friends have no intention of seizing the cuartel. We are not in a position to hold it just now.”