“For the last time no—not if it was to save our lives ten times over,” replied Frank.
Rogero moved over to a window that overlooked the quadrangle of the barracks.
“I shall have an excellent view of your deaths from this window,” he remarked, “and I assure you that nothing I have seen for a long time will give me more pleasure.”
“Not even your murder of Dr. Moneague in New York,”—quietly retorted Frank.
The effect the boy’s remark on Rogero was electric. His brown face seemed to turn a sickly green.
“You American dog—for that, if I could inflict a thousand deaths upon you, you should die them all, one by one,” he fairly shouted.
“Take them away,” he bawled to the soldiers, who stood staring open-mouthed at the sight of his maniacal fury. “Take them away and shoot them down, before I run them through with my sword.”
Frank smiled with a bitter contempt. If he had ever felt any doubt as to Rogero’s guilt he was convinced of it now. He was beyond a question the murderer of Dr. Moneague. His own fury and consternation at Frank’s quiet remark had convinced the boy. As the boys were led out Rogero stood at the window. They could see that he was shaking and muttering to himself as if in terror. At that moment a huge bat, that had been hanging to one of the rafters of the room, which was unceiled, flopped heavily down and nearly struck him in the face. Rogero reeled back with what was almost a scream of horror.
“Vampiro,” the boys heard the soldiers say, showing almost as much horror as had Rogero at the sudden apparition of the animal,—which had now flopped heavily off again into some other recess. They did not know then that in most Central American countries the vampire is regarded as an evil spirit and carries the menace of death on its leathern wings, as well as its reputation as a blood-sucker.