“And you, the reefers?” the Dictator asked.
“They ought to be hanged, sir,” Paggy said.
“I don’t know, sir,” Crockums said, “I don’t know about their being hanged. I don’t know what laws you may have, nor what they deserve, according to your laws.”
At that instant, from without, there came a shattering volley of rifles, which made all present leap. While they stared at each other, plaster and glass pattered and tinkled down somewhere outside.
“That,” the Dictator said, “is what they deserve according to my laws. Nor are my laws savage, seeing that I live in the South, where things bite worse and poison is more fell than in the North, where even the Devil is cold-blooded. So, they are gone where justice is less fallible than here; there they will receive, no doubt, the surplus which we, in our human weakness have failed to give.
“But come, enough of them: they are dead. I hear my carriages. We will leave this place of devilry, for breakfast at the palace. You reefers, too; you have deserved it: I will explain to your captain. Come, then.”
An equerry entered and saluted:
“Your Excellency’s carriages are now in the street without,” he said.
“Good,” the Dictator answered. “Santiago, y cierra España. Miss Kingsborough, I give you one arm; but the other I give to Harker mio.”
“Your Excellency,” Margarita said, “Mr. Harker only has one arm, and that is mine.”