“Listen! This afternoon a woman whose name I can’t reveal (it’s a secret of the confessional) came to me and told everything. At eight o’clock they will seize the barracks by surprise, plunder the convento, capture the police boat, and murder all of us Spaniards.”
The alferez was stupefied.
“The woman did not tell me any more than this,” added the curate.
“She didn’t tell any more? Then I’ll arrest her!”
“I can’t consent to that. The bar of penitence is the throne of the God of mercies.”
“There’s neither God nor mercies that amount to anything! I’ll arrest her!”
“You’re losing your head! What you must do is to get yourself ready. Muster your soldiers quietly and put them in ambush, send me four guards for the convento, and notify the men in charge of the boat.”
“The boat isn’t here. I’ll ask for help from the other sections.”
“No, for then the plotters would be warned and would not carry out their plans. What we must do is to catch them alive and make them talk—I mean, you’ll make them talk, since I, as a priest, must not meddle in such matters. Listen, here’s where you win crosses and stars. I ask only that you make due acknowledgment that it was I who warned you.”
“It’ll be acknowledged, Padre, it’ll be acknowledged—and perhaps you’ll get a miter!” answered the glowing alferez, glancing at the cuffs of his uniform.