As he rose to his feet after saluting the Emperor, Paola glanced around the room and noted my presence. I could not well disguise the scorn I felt for this treacherous fellow, and as he met my eyes he smiled and twirled his small moustache with a satisfied air.
“Well?” demanded the Emperor.
“All is indeed well, your Majesty,” returned the minister, lightly. “The leaders of the conspiracy, with one exception, are now under arrest.”
“And that one?”
“Sanchez Bastro, a coffee-planter with a ranch near by. He has crossed the border. But it is unimportant.”
“And Mendez?”
“Imprisoned in the citadel.”
“Barros?”
“He is comforting Mendez, in the same cell.”
“Treverot?”