Suddenly the manager clapped his hands to his head. “I forget,” he said, “the senorita who came last night. What has become of her?”
Anita frowned. “I gave her coffee,” she said. “She wishes to sleep again.”
“Who’s that?” Quentin asked. “What senorita?”
“Beautiful American lady lost the boat last night. She come to this hotel. I am very worried, but I give her a room. I only just remember.”
“You let her stay here?” Morecombre exclaimed angrily. “What the hell did you do that for?”
The manager looked distressed. “I was not thinking. I was very worried.” He broke off and looked pathetic again.
“I guess you were tight,” Quentin said angrily, getting to his feet. He turned to Anita. “Go and wake her at once. Tell her she had better pack and clear out of this joint. Explain that trouble is likely to happen here.”
The manager started up. “No, no!” he said. “Nothing is going to happen to my beautiful hotel. You must not say such things.”
Quentin looked at him grimly. “That’s what you say. If a revolution does start, this is one of the first places they’re coming to. You don’t think they’ll let General Fuentes get away after what he’s done to them, do you?”
The manager looked as if he were going to faint. “You must not say such things,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “It is very dangerous to talk like that.”