De Crespedes looked at the woman. He thought her breasts were superb. The sight of her drew his mind away from his duty and this faintly irritated him, because he was quite a good soldier. He said a little impatiently: “It will be better for you to say so now than later.”
The woman began to weep. Lopez touched her shoulder gently. “Quiet,” he said, “it’s Richardo de Crespedes.”
The Lieutenant drew himself to his full height and bowed. “He is right,” he said, rolling his bloodshot eyes a little. The woman could feel his rising lust for her.
Lopez said desperately: “Excellency, there has been some mistake—”
De Crespedes lost patience. He told the soldiers to search the place for guns. As the negroes began hunting, he pulled the woman away from Lopez. “Come here,” he said, “I want to look at you.”
Lopez opened his mouth, but no sound came from him, his eyes half closed and his hands clenched. He knew he could do nothing.
The woman stood close to de Crespedes, her hands clasped over her breasts. Her fear stirred his blood.
“Do you understand why I’m here?” he said, putting his hand on her bare arm. “Traitors are arming the people against the President. Guns have been hidden here. We know that. Where are they?”
She stood quivering like a nervous horse, not daring to draw away from him. She said: “Excellency, my man is a good man. He knows nothing about guns.”
“No?” De Crespedes pulled her closer to him. “You know nothing about these terrorists? Nothing about plots to overthrow Machado?”