There was deep silence for nearly half a minute. Then somebody flung open a door which brought a gush of pure air into the foulness. An officer who had Sagrado covered with a revolver trod out the carib leaf under his feet. Two guards advanced, struck Sagrado suddenly on the wrists, knocking them together, then instantly twisted the twitch or cuero about them and wrenched it taut. Sard thought, “I have often heard that they put the twitch on criminals. They can break a man’s wrists with it, so they say. Now there it is, actually done, before my eyes. They have him at their mercy.”
Sagrado neither spoke nor struggled. He was like one drugged and unable to speak through the drug. He thought no more of Sard, but plainly did not yet know what had happened. The negro had turned whitish under his colour: the Indians moved no muscle.
The Dictator strode through the guards and spoke.
“So,” he said, “a nice, pretty Christian scene of play! And Harker mio, my benefactor. One turn deserves another.”
Guardias kept flooding into the room. They sorted themselves into couples, who advanced, each couple, to an Indian, put the cuero on him and dragged him aside. The Dictator with his own hands beat and tore at Margarita’s chains. A chief of guardias, who had keys about him, unlocked the padlocks; the chains clanked to the floor, Sard and Margarita were free. The two reefers were white and subdued, but both were kind and helpful. They brought chairs for the two victims, and then, after a little search, brought water in some bronze bowls and mopped their brows. “You’re among friends, Miss,” they said. “No one shall hurt you.” “You’re all right, sir,” they said to Sard; “you’ll soon feel better. It’s all right now, sir; those devils are all cueroed up.”
When the Dictator had helped to restore the two victims, he turned to the guards. “Take those Indios and this negro out into the Plaza for the present,” he said. “Leave this leader of theirs. I wish a little to examine him.”
When the last of the eight had been removed, the Dictator turned to Margarita.
“Miss Kingsborough,” he said, “I’m glad to be able to say that your brother is safe. He will do well enough; but I have thought it better to have him to my palace for my doctor to overhaul. Presently, when my carriages come, you shall join him.
“And now I will a little question this atavist, this throwback, who has so nearly destroyed my Harker. Bring this creature to the light.”
The man who held the twitch brought Sagrado forward. Sagrado seemed dazed still, but in his dream he was unwilling to be seen; he shrank from the Dictator and bowed his head into his robes.