“Yes,” said Appleby. “It was a heavy responsibility, but I could think of no other means of overcoming the difficulty. That I should agree to Morales’ terms was out of the question.”
“Of course!” said Harding simply. “That is, to a man like you.”
Appleby flushed a little. “I had no opportunity of warning you, while it seemed to me that it would go very hard with you if you were seized by Morales. That appeared almost inevitable unless you had friends behind you. The only ones that could be of service in this instance are the Sin Verguenza.”
“And so you took your chances of Morales shooting you?”
“I think,” said Appleby quietly, “there was, under the circumstances, very little else that one could do.”
Harding looked at him steadily, and then, nodding gravely, turned to Maccario.
“The Señor Appleby has thrown me on the patriots’ hands,” he said. “I have already done them several small services, as you perhaps know. They will remember that?”
Maccario’s eyes twinkled. “I believe they will. The Señor Harding’s generosity is well known,” he said. “In this country friends who are liberal with their money are scarce, and one is willing to do a little now and then to retain their good will. That, I think, is comprehensible. One has usually a motive.”
“Yet, when two men who had not a dollar between them were in peril, a merchant of tobacco ventured into the cuartel at Santa Marta!” said Appleby quietly.
Maccario lifted one shoulder expressively. “One is not always discreet, my friend. There is, however, an important question. The Señor Harding who knows his own countrymen believes there will be war?”