“Excellency, Excellency....” The man stuttered, his eyes on O’Brien’s face.
“Nor how long he was in the town of Rio Medio?” the judge went on.
O’Brien suddenly drooped towards his ear. “All those things are known, senor, my colleague,” he said, and began to whisper.
The old judge showed signs of very naïve astonishment and joy.
“Is it possible?” he exclaimed. “This man? He is very young to have committed such crimes.”
The clerk hurriedly left the room. He returned with many papers. O’Brien, leaning over the judge’s shoulder, emphasized words with one finger. What new villainies could O’Brien be meditating? It wasn’t possibly the Lugareño’s suggestion that I had lured men to murder Don Balthasar? Was it merely that I had infringed some law in carrying off Seraphina?
The old judge said, “How lucky, Don Patricio! We may now satisfy the English admiral. What good fortune!”
He suddenly sat straight in his chair; O’Brien behind him scrutinized my face—to see how I should bear what was coming.
“What is your name?” the judge asked peremptorily.
I said, “Juan—John Kemp. I am of noble English family; I am well enough known. Ask the Señor O’Brien.”