He lived alone in a little two-roomed mud cottage at the east end of the town. Here Romaña sought a temporary lodging. Galdos already had some news for him. Mr. O'Hagan had not been taken to the capital, but was imprisoned in the town jail.
"I will tell you why, señor," said the old man. "The Prefect wishes to manage things quietly. There is too much sunlight in San Juan! The Señor Inglés has many friends and a few compatriots there, and they would agitate if the thing were known. The Prefect's own party would be uneasy, for it is no light matter to oppress an Inglés; the British Government would say hard things at Lima, and the Prefect might find himself in hot water. He is a hotheaded, reckless imbecile; but some of his supporters are more prudent, and they would hesitate to provoke the anger of the government. But here, in this out-of-the-way town, many things can be done without making a noise. The Prefect has many creatures who will do just as he bids them. He needs much money; his troops are clamouring for arrears of pay, and he lacks arms and ammunition for the campaign he is meditating against our party. The Señor Inglés is known to be wealthy; that is his crime."
"What will the Prefect do with him?" asked Romaña.
"Who knows?" replied Galdos with a shrug. "We shall see. There was trouble at the hacienda to-day. When the Japanese workers heard that the caballero was arrested, they marched to the house and threatened mischief to the gendarmes. It was only the intervention of the señora that prevented a fight. She pled with the people to go back to their work for the señor's sake. The Inglésa is a clever woman. Where is the boy?"
"He is in a safe place, where he will remain until we know what is to be done. If the worst happens he must take refuge with Señor Mollendo until we can convey him and his mother to Lima. I shall go back to him to-morrow."
Meanwhile Tim had eaten his supper--a tin of beans which he found in the cupboard--and made himself as snug as possible among the rugs in one of the box beds. He was not frightened, but he would not have denied that he felt miserable. For a long time he lay wakeful, wondering how far the Prefect's tyranny might go, and taking a good deal of unnecessary blame to himself for having wished for a motor-bicycle. The machine, of course, was no more the cause of recent events than a ball of worsted is the cause of a kitten's playfulness. Just as a kitten's native energy makes the ball the occasion of leaps and gambols; so the Prefect had seized on Tim's adventure with the gobernador as a pretext for squeezing the gobernador himself, and for venting his spite on the man who would not be squeezed.
Romaña came back on the following afternoon. The news he brought was not calculated to lighten Tim's heaviness. Mr. O'Hagan was closely confined; gendarmes were flocking into the town, to overawe any who might be disaffected, Romaña supposed. He left again at dusk, begging Tim to be patient.
Next day his information was even more serious. The Prefect had arrived, accompanied by a number of officers, and it was rumoured that the prisoner was to be tried by court-martial. The ordinary process of law was evidently too slow for the dictator; it left, perhaps, too many loopholes for escape. With a court composed of his own particular tools he might depend on the proceedings being short and swift.
"But it is utterly illegal to try a civilian by court-martial in time of peace," Tim protested.
"The Prefect makes his own law," said Romaña. "He has proclaimed martial law in the town."