The manager came into the room very quickly, a smile lighting his face. “That is generous,” he said. “American gentlemen are always very generous.”
Quentin looked up. He was busy opening a tin. “You know why we are here, don’t you?” he asked abruptly.
The manager looked confused. “You come to see our beautiful city… yes?” he said, fidgeting with his small white hands.
“We are here to report and obtain photographs of a coming revolution,” Quentin said impressively. “How long do you think we’ll have to wait before it begins?”
The manager looked helplessly at the tin in Quentin’s hands. “I could not say,” he said. “I know nothing about a revolution.”
Quentin glanced across at Morecombre and shrugged. “They’re all alike,” he said a little bitterly. “I guess we’ve just got to be patient and wait.”
Another knock sounded on the door and Anita came in with a tray. She, too, regarded the tins with interest.
“Coffee, senor,” she said.
Morecombre took the tray from her. “Come on in and join us,” he said. “This is no time to stand on ceremony.”
The manager scowled at her, but she sat down close to Morecombre, taking no notice of him.