"Because," replied Ridge, in a voice that still trembled from his recent fright, "I knew not to which side you belonged."
"What! Did you for a moment think that I might be a vile Spaniard? I, Enrico del Concha, a Cuban of the Cubans? Alas! that such a suspicion should fall upon one of my name."
"And what," inquired Ridge, "did you take me for?"
"A Spanish spy, of course. Do you not speak the language without even a Cuban accent? Did you not decline to tell me how or what you were? Above all, did you not carry on your person despatches addressed to certain Spanish generals?"
Ridge clapped a hand to his breast pocket.
"Yes, señor, they are gone," laughed the other.
"My rogues are clever thieves, and took them from you when we first met, together with your money, for which they were searching. Hereafter you must provide for your private papers a place of greater safety. Now let us have one more cup of that delicious coffee while you confide to me who you are and why you are here."