Chapter Thirteen.
Jack grows desperate.
By a lucky chance it happened that Don Ramon was at home when Jack reached the house, and the young man was accordingly conducted to the room in which his Spanish friend usually transacted his business.
At sight of his visitor Don Ramon flung down his pen and grasped Jack by the hand.
“Well,” he exclaimed, “what is it? You have picked up some news at last, I can see; and it is bad news, I fear, by the look of you. Or is it that you are ill? Por Dios, man, you look as though you might be dying! Here, sit down, and let me ring for some cognac.”
“No, no,” said Jack, “I need no cognac, or anything else, thanks; but I have just gained some news of our poor friends, and bad news it is, as you shall hear.” And thereupon he related all that had passed at the restaurant, repeating Alvaros’ words as nearly verbatim as he could remember them.
“Oh, the despicable villain, the atrocious scoundrel!” exclaimed Don Ramon, when Singleton had come to the end of his narrative. “But do you really believe that the part of his story relating to the Señorita Isolda is true? May it not be that it is merely the empty boast of an inordinately vain man? There are individuals, you know, who pride themselves on that sort of thing.”
“So I believe,” answered Jack, “though, thank God, it has never been my misfortune to be brought into contact with any of them until now. No; I am afraid that the story is only too true. The scoundrel, being Governor of the prison, would have the power to—to—do what he says he did, and the mere fact that he boasted of it seems pretty strong evidence that he also had the will. I am therefore afraid that—that—oh, hang it! this won’t do; I must pull myself together or I shall be fit for nothing.”