The Lieutenant said, “We’ll go inside,” and he stepped past Lopez, holding his sword at the alert. He walked into the dwelling.
Lopez followed him with two of the soldiers. The other two stood just outside the door.
The room was very poor, shabby, and dirty. De Crespedes moved to the rough table standing in the middle of the room and rested his haunches on it. He unbuttoned the flap on his revolver-holster and eased the revolver so that he could draw it easily. He said to one of the soldiers, “Search the place.”
Lopez moved uneasily. “Excellency, there is no one here—only my wife.”
The negro went into the other room. De Crespedes said, “See if he’s armed.”
The other soldier ran his big hands over Lopez, shook his head, and stepped back. De Crespedes hesitated, then reluctantly put up his sword. There was a long, uneasy pause.
The negro came back from the other room pushing a Cuban woman before him.
De Crespedes looked at her and his small eyes gleamed. The woman ran to Lopez and clung to him, her face blank with fear. She wore a white blouse and skirt; her feet were bare. De Crespedes thought she was extraordinarily nice. He touched his waxed moustache and smiled. The movement was not lost on Lopez, who tightened his hold on his wife.
De Crespedes said: “You’re hiding guns here. Where are they?”
Lopez shook his head. “I have no guns, Excellency. I am a poor farmer—I do not trade in guns.”