Even then my strange companion did not move. He was indeed a queer mixture of eager activity and absolute self-repression. Another hour passed, and then we heard footsteps approaching down the passageway.
With a start Pesta aroused himself and fixed a searching glance upon my face. Trembling with nervousness he suddenly raised his manacled hands and removed from his mouth a small object that glittered in the morning light.
My heart gave a sudden bound. It was the ring that opened the secret vault!
His own agitation prevented his noting my amazement. Thrusting the ring toward me he whispered, hurriedly:
“Conceal it, quickly, for the love of God! Keep it until I come for it—I, Manuel Pesta—until I demand it of Robert Harcliffe of New Orleans. It may be to-day—it may be many days. But I will come, señor, I—”
The bolts of the door shot back and a squad of soldiers entered. Their sudden appearance barely gave me time to drop the ring into an outside pocket of my coat. As two of the soldiers seized him I noticed that the Mexican was trembling violently; but he arose meekly and submitted to be led from the room. Two others motioned me to follow, and in a few moments we were ushered into the room where I had had my interview with the Emperor.
Valcour was standing by the fireplace when we entered, and eyeing the Mexican with indifference he said to the captain:
“This is the man you found secreted in the out-building?”
“It is, senhor,” answered the captain.
“Have you searched him?”