"I--will consult with Brannan, Leidesdorff and Spear, as you suggested," Hull replied. But his eyes were kind. The Senorita Inez had her answer. Impetuously, her arms went around his neck. An instant later, dazed, a little red, a moist spot on his cheek and a lingering fragrance clinging subtly like the touch of vanished arms, Hull watched her flying heels upon the muddy square.
"Well, I'll be damned!" he said, explosively.
In the room which had been Inez' whilom prison--and which proved to be the only one available in the City Hotel, Adrian Stanley lay tossing and muttering. The woman who sat at his bedside watched anxiously each movement of his lips, listening eagerly to catch the incoherent, whispered words. For a time she could make of them no intelligent meaning. But now, after a long and quiet interval, he began to ask questions, though his eyes were still closed. "Am I going to die?"
"No," said Inez, for it was she, "you've lost a lot of blood, but the doctor says there's small danger."
The bearded face looked up half quizzically. "Are you glad?"
"Oh ... yes," said Inez, with a quick-taken respiration.
"Then it's all right," the patient murmured sleepily. His eyes closed.
Inez' color heightened as she watched him. What had he meant, she wondered, and decided that his brain was not quite clear. But, somehow, this was not the explanation she desired.
Presently Dr. Elbert Jones came in, cheering her with his breezy, jovial drawl.