“So I thought.” The General’s eyes gleamed. “I’m afraid you both must consider yourselves under arrest. It is not good that newspaper men should be here at this time.”
“Really, General,,” Quentin said, shaking his head, “you can’t do that. We are American citizens, and we are entitled to remain here as long as we like. You have no power to arrest us, and I think you know it.”
Fuentes touched his neat, close-clipped moustache with his fingers. “Owing to the present emergency,” he said, “the Government have special powers. I repeat, you both are under arrest. You are not to leave the hotel without permission. Should you fail to obey this order you will be shot without mercy.” He looked at the other two. “And this also applies to you.”
Morecombre pushed himself out of his chair. “Say, listen, General,” he said, “you can’t pull a thing like this. We’re here to represent our papers, and we’ve got to have our freedom of movement.”
Fuentes shrugged. “You can please yourself about that,” he said dryly. “I shall regret any accident, but you can’t say that you were not warned.” He looked across to the manager. “Any other American in this hotel?” he demanded.
The manager hesitated, but Quentin moved forward. “I can answer your question, General,” he said quietly. “There is a lady here, under my charge. She is going to the consul this morning.”
Fuentes shook his head. “I don’t think so. She will stay here. Where is she?”
Quentin kept his temper with difficulty. “This attitude you’re adopting isn’t going to get you anywhere,” he said. “The lady missed the ship last night. She is entitled to go to the consul without interference.”
Fuentes turned on his heel. “Come,” he said to the soldiers, “find this woman.”
Quentin followed him out into the corridor. “As you’re determined to play this little drama to its conclusion, I’ll take you to her.”