Those present, pale and terrified, looked at each other in silence. The alferez made a signal for them to take him down from where he was hanging, and stepped aside for a few moments. Doña Consolacion a number of times applied the lighted end of her cigar to the bare legs of Tarsilo, but his body did not quiver. It put out the light.
“He has asphyxiated himself,” murmured a cuaderillero. “See how his tongue is turned, as if he wanted to swallow it.”
The other prisoner, trembling and perspiring, contemplated the scene. Like a madman he looked about him.
The alferez ordered the directorcillo to question him.
“Señor, Señor,” he groaned. “I will tell you all that you wish.”
“Good. Let us see! What is your name?”
“Andong, Señor!”
“Bernardo ... Leonardo ... Ricardo ... Educardo. Gerardo ... or what?”
“Andong, Señor,” repeated the imbecile.
“Call it Bernardo or whatever you please,” said the alferez, decided not to bother more about it.