“I shall appeal to our consul at Rio. They must release me,” I answered.
“Good. Very good! They must release you. You are no conspirator—a mere secretary, and an American.”
I nodded, wishing I might share his confidence. Presently he asked for my name and residence, and I answered him truly.
“I myself am Manuel Pesta, of the City of Mexico. You must not forget the name, señor. Manuel Pesta, the clockmaker.”
“I shall not forget,” said I, wondering what he could mean. And a moment later he startled me by bending forward and asking in an eager tone:
“Have they searched you?”
“Yes.”
“It is my turn soon. This morning.”
He leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and fell silent again.
For my part I lay back upon the pillow, yet taking care to face him, and so we remained until daylight came and gradually drove the shadows from the little room.