"Now, the password," he said.
"Bolivar," replied Machado.
But Will marked a slight hesitation before the answer was given.
"Are you sure?" he said fiercely. "A mistake will cost you dear."
"A slip, señor," said Machado, quailing. "Bolivar was last night's password: to-night's is Libertad."
"Make no more slips. Now go to your table."
On the table, close to the instrument, lay a number of telegram forms plundered from the railway, and a pencil. Pointing to these, Will said--
"Write what I say. 'Release prisoners: will send----' Stop there, and add, 'Message interrupted.'"
Machado wrote the words. His fingers trembled so violently that the strokes were like those of an old man. Then Will, telling Azito to stand over Machado with his knife and to kill him if he moved, he turned the handle at the side of the instrument that switched off the current, and worked the operating handle for half-a-minute. The clicks could be distinctly heard in the patio, but the current being switched off, no effect was produced at the other end of the wire.
Giving the telegraph form to Machado, he said--