“I am capable of anything, comrade.”
“Good. Wait for me until tonight.”
“Very well,” said Quentin. “Will you take these papers to the printer for me?”
“What are they?”
“Poison for La Víbora, or articles, if you like that better.”
“Give them to me. I’ll be here at seven.” Then the bandit, turning to the woman, said: “Adiós, my soul!”
“Won’t you stay a little while, José?” she asked.
“No. Life is too short,” he answered gruffly, and went out through the attic window.
CHAPTER XXIV
THE VICTIM OF A FEUILLETON
THE woman and Quentin were left alone.