"You will be hung," said Coronado, staring sternly at his uncle.
"I don't know what you mean," mumbled the old man, trembling all over.
"What a fool you were to use a poison so easily detected as arsenic! I have sent for doctors. They will recognize her symptoms. You prepared the chocolate. Here is the arsenic in your trunk. You will be hung."
"Give me that paper," whimpered Garcia, rising from his bed and staggering toward Coronado. "Give it to me. It is mine."
Coronado put the package behind him with one hand and held off his uncle with the other.
"You must go," he persisted. "She won't live two hours. Be off before you are arrested. Take horse for San Francisco. If there is a steamer, get aboard of it. Never mind where it sails to."
"Give me the paper," implored Garcia, going down on his knees. "O Madre de Dios! My head, my head! Oh, what extremities! Give me the paper. Carlos, it was all for your sake."
"Are you going?" demanded Coronado.
"Oh yes. Madre de Dios! I am going."
"Come along. By the back way. Do you want to pass her room? Do you want to see your work? I will send your trunk to the bankers. Quit California at the first chance. Quit it at once, if you go to China."