“You lie,” the man said. “Your friends do not know that you are here.”
“The Dictator of this Republic knows that we are here,” Sard ventured.
“The Dictator of this Republic is my good friend,” the man replied.
“My Consul is not; neither is my Minister,” Sard said. “You will find this kidnapping trade a poor one.”
“How?”
“By our friends.”
“You will find night burglary and knight-errantry poor trades, before your friends find you, young man. Who are you?”
“Undo these chains and I will show you.”
“You are a sailor; an English sailor, who missed his ship at Las Palomas,” the padre answered. “You are one of these ship’s dogs who run loose in foreign ports. A slave by day, a drunken criminal by night.”
“Less of a criminal than a dirty, foreign, woman-torturer.”