“He must go out to-day, and for reasons you will appreciate. As you know, from reading my telegrams through the government wireless——”
“Which was our agreement for my getting you your permission to use the government station,” the Jefe reminded.
“And of which I do not complain,” Torres assured him. “But as I was saying, you know my relations with the New York Regan are confidential and important.” He touched his hand to his breast pocket. “I have just received another wire. It is imperative that the Francis pig be kept away from New York for a month—if forever, and I do not misunderstand Senor Regan, so much the better. In so far as I succeed in this, will you fare well.”
“But you have not told me how much you have received, nor how much you will receive,” the Jefe probed.
“It is a private agreement, and it is not so much as you may fancy. He is a hard man, this Senor Regan, a hard man. Yet will I divide fairly with you out of the success of our venture.”
The Jefe nodded acquiescence, then said:
“Will it be as much as a thousand gold you will get?”
“I think so. Surely the pig of an Irish stock-gambler could pay me no less a sum, and five hundred is yours if pig Francis leaves his bones in San Antonio.”
“Will it be as much as a hundred thousand gold?” was the Jefe’s next query.
Torres laughed as if at a joke.