When within a few yards of the tents, he lay on the ground to watch his opportunity. He could just see the dark form of the sentry passing to and fro beyond the line of tents. The man's beat appeared to extend for about fifty yards, and at the end of it farthest from the house he stopped to talk to the sentry next him. Will heard the low hum of their voices. All was quiet within the house. To get into it he must pass the lighted window of Machado's room. The sentries were bound to see him. What could he do?
He lay for some minutes in sheer perplexity. The sentry passed more than once. Suddenly he made up his mind to a desperate venture. The room next to Machado's was in darkness. It was, he knew, a cloak-room. There was a door between them. He would enter the enclosure boldly between the nearest tent and the house, when the sentries were next engaged in chatting. They would never dream that an unauthorized person had dared to come into the very jaws of the lion. There were many Indians among General Carabaño's men, so that the sight of Azito would not necessarily alarm the sentries. He would walk with Azito openly along the back of the house, get beneath the veranda, where it was even darker than in the camp enclosure, and by hook or by crook find an entrance.
He explained his plan softly to Azito. The Indian was timorous, but after a few moments' thought he agreed to accompany his master. They crawled to the right until they came just behind the last tent of the line, and waited until they heard the low hum of the sentries' voices. Then they stepped round the tent, and walked slowly towards the house. Will's heart was thumping violently, but he walked steadily on until he reached the steps leading up to the veranda. He saw with joy as he passed the lighted window that a thin curtain hung across it. The sentries gave no sign. He mounted the steps, Azito close behind, and stood by the window of the room next to Machado's. He waited for a moment, then gently tried the latch of the French window. It was not secured. He opened the door, and they stepped noiselessly in.
[CHAPTER XII--THE KIDNAPPERS]
The door between the two rooms was closed. That into the patio was ajar. Will stole across the room and peeped into the patio. A small lamp was burning at the farther end, near the front door. A man sat dozing on a chair outside De Mello's room, which was no doubt occupied by Carabaño. Another lay fast asleep on the floor at the patio door of Machado's room. But for these the patio was empty. To enter it seemed too risky; Will stepped back into the cloak-room and listened at the door of communication. There was no sound. He waited, pressing his ear against the door. Now he heard slight snores: somebody was in the farther room, asleep. He gently tried the handle. The door was not locked. Grasping his revolver, Azito having his machete, he quickly opened the door and went in. Machado was asleep on a long cane chair. The telegraphic instrument stood on a table at his left hand. Will softly closed the door behind him, and motioned to Azito to stand at the door opening into the patio. A clock on a shelf told the hour: it was five minutes past eleven.
Machado was fast asleep and did not stir. Was it possible to wake him without causing him to cry out or make some sound that would alarm the men in the patio? Will went to the foot of the cane chair, and pointing his revolver full at Machado's head, he gently touched him. The man moved uneasily. Will touched him again. He drew up his legs slightly. Another touch, and his eyes opened. For a moment Will thought that the shock would itself force a cry from him, but at a warning hiss his jaw dropped, and a look of terror distorted his face as he saw the shining barrel of the revolver within two feet of his eyes. With a gesture of warning Will allowed him a few seconds to collect himself: then in tones so low that they could scarcely have been heard outside he said--
"You are awake?"
Machado's swarthy face had gone grey with fear. He did not reply.
"It depends on yourself whether you awake again. Do as I bid you and your life is safe. At the least sign of treachery I shoot you like a dog. You understand?"
Machado's lips moved, but no sound came from them.