Don Diego Vega laughed lightly again. And then the laughter fled his face, and his eyes narrowed and seemed to send forth flakes of steel.
“Sí! You must be paid!” he said. “But there are many ways of making payment!”
The sword of Señor Zorro was beneath his hands. And suddenly it was out of its scabbard, and he had sprung upon the table and had dashed down the full length of it, scattering goblets and plates, drink and food.
Off the other end he sprang, and struck the floor a few feet in front of Barbados, who had recoiled and was struggling to get his cutlass out of his belt. The sword of Zorro flashed through the air, describing a gleaming arc.
“Pirate, eh?” Don Diego Vega cried. “You have come to collect riches, have you, Señor Pirate?”
“What is to prevent?” Barbados sneered. “You and your pretty toy of a sword?”
“Ha! You insult a good blade!” Don Diego cried. “The insult shall not go unpunished! Look you here!”
Don Diego Vega whirled suddenly to one side, his sword seemed to flash fire, and its point bit into a panel of the wall once, twice, thrice! Barbados looked on in amazement, his lower jaw sagging. His little eyes bulged, and he looked again. Scratched on the panel of the wall was a Z.
“That mark!” the pirate gasped. “You are Zorro! That mark—the same the commandante wears on his forehead—”
Don Diego had whirled to face him again. “How know you there is such a mark on the forehead of Captain Ramón?” he demanded. “So! The commandante deals with pirates, does he? That is how it happens that my friend, Sergeant Gonzales, and his soldiers are not here! Ha!”