“No knife, no knife!” she murmured, and Rotil shrugged his shoulders and looked at Kit.
“That little crane in the corner would walk barefoot over embers of hell to get a knife and get at Conrad,” he said. “You have taste in your favorites, señor.”
He seemed to get a certain amusement in the contemplation of Kit and Tula; he had seen no other American with quite that sort of addition to his outfit. Kit was content to let him think his worst, as to tell the truth would no doubt lose them a friend. It tickled the general’s fancy to think the thin moody Indian girl, immature and childlike, was an American’s idea of a sweetheart!
Voices and the clank of chains were heard in the patio, and then in the next room.
“Why bring us here when your questions were given answer as well in another place?” demanded a man’s voice, and at that Doña Jocasta looked at Rotil.
“Yes, why do you?” she whispered.
He stared at her, frowning and puzzled.
“Did I not tell you? I did it that you might hear him repeat his offer. What else?”
“I––see,” she said, bending her head, but as Rotil went to the door, Kit noted that the eyes of Doña Jocasta followed him curiously. He concluded that the unseen man of the voice was José Perez.
Then the voice of Conrad was heard cursing at a chain too heavy. Rotil laughed, and walked into the chapel.