"Who is the officer of the guard?" San Benavides asked the soldier.
"Senhor Tenente [Lieutenant] Regis de Pereira, senhor capitão."
"Tell him, with my compliments, that I shall be glad to meet him at the colonel's quarters in fifteen minutes."
The queerly-assorted pair moved off across the barrack square. The sentry looked after them.
"My excellent captain seems to have been brawling," he grinned. "But what of the mendigo?"
What, indeed? A most pertinent question for Brazil, and one that would be loudly answered.
The colonel's house was in darkness, yet San Benavides rapped imperatively. An upper window was raised. A voice was heard, using profane language. A head appeared. Its owner cried, "Who is it?"—with additions.
"San Benavides."
"Christo! And the other?"
"One whom you expect."