"I never meant to do you an injury, señor," persisted Zaypuru; "it was my adviser Durango who urged it."
"The less you say about it the better," interrupted Whittinghame. "I want to hear no excuses. Party!" he ordered, addressing a file of men. "Escort the prisoner to the Commandante's quarters."
Trembling like a leaf the President was taken away and lodged in the same room as his henchman, Alonzo da Costa, while the rest of his men who had followed him into the patio surrendered at discretion.
Meanwhile, Dacres was directing the fire of the defenders. Although the aim of the Valderians on both sides was erratic, several of the bullets whistled unpleasantly close. The President's escort, fearing to retire, since in their retreat they would be fully exposed to the fire of the garrison, stuck tenaciously to the cover afforded by the outer wall, hoping that additional troops would be sent from Naocuanha to their support.
"Man that machine gun," ordered Dacres to those of the crew of the "Meteor" who had remained with him.
The ammunition was soon forthcoming, and a hail of small projectiles directed upon the adobe wall. This was more than the enemy could swallow, and a white flag soon appeared above the crumbling outer wall.
Keeping the defenders well under control, Gerald Whittinghame shouted to the President's men that they were at liberty to retire to the capital. For some moments there was no indication of this offer being accepted. At length, one or two plucked up courage to make a dash towards Naocuanha, and finding that they were not fired upon the rest of the escort promptly took to their heels, amid the jeers of the released prisoners.
Dacres looked at his watch. It was ten minutes past nine.
"Nearly an hour to wait," he remarked as Gerald Whittinghame came up. "If Zaypuru hadn't been so inconsiderate as to arrive an hour earlier he might have saved us some trouble."
"What do you mean?" asked Gerald.