CHAPTER XXVIII
MOTHER JENKS, grown impatient at the lack of news concerning Webster, left Dolores to her grief in the room across the hall and sought the open air, for of late she had been experiencing with recurring frequency a slight feeling of suffocation. She sat down on the broad granite steps, helped herself to a much-needed “bracer” from her brandy flask and was gazing pensively at the scene around her when Ricardo came up the stairs.
“'Elio!” Mother Jenks saluted him. “W'ere 'ave you been, Mr. Bowers?”
“I have just returned from capturing Sarros, Mrs. Jenks. He is on his way to the arsenal under guard.”
“Gor' strike me pink!” the old lady cried. “'Ave I lived to see this day!” Her face was wreathed in a happy smile. “I wonder 'ow the beggar feels to 'ave the shoe on the other foot, eh—the'eartless'ound! I'm 'opin' this General Ruey will 'ave the blighter shot.”
“You need have no worry on that score, Mrs. Jenks. I'm General Ruey. Andrew Bowers was just my summer name, as it were.”
“Angels guard me! Wot the bloomin' 'ell surprise won't we 'ave next. Wot branch o' the Ruey tribe do you belong to? Are you a nephew o' him that was president before Sarros shot 'im? Antonio Ruey, who was 'arf brother to the president, 'ad a son 'e called Ricardo. Are you 'im, might I arsk?”
“I am the son of Ricardo the Beloved,” he answered proudly.
“Not the lad as was away at school when 'is father was hexecuted?”
“I am that same lad, Mrs. Jenks. And who are you? You seem to know a deal of my family history.”