“She and Vega—they stood on the wharf,” he shouted, “you understand? They laughed at me. And then the sharks smelt me out and followed; and I couldn’t hide because the harbor was on fire. I struck at them and screamed, but I couldn’t shake them off; they dived and turned; they crept up on me stealthily, in great circles. They were waiting for me to drown. Whichever way I swam I saw them, under me, on every side! They lit the water with great streaks of flame. And she and Vega pointed me out and laughed.”
“Stop him!” shrieked Peter. “You must not listen! Give him morphine! Dope him! Stop him!”
Roddy wrenched his wrists free and ran to Pedro, clutching him by the shoulders.
“But we’ll save him!” he cried. “We’ll set him free! Because he is an old man. Because he is a great man. Because he is her father. We’ll make him President!” His voice soared exultantly. “To hell with Vega!” he shouted. “To hell with Alvarez!” He flung up his arms into the air. “Viva Rojas!” he cried.
Peter turned on Vicenti and shook his fist savagely in his face.
“What you’ve heard,” he threatened, “you’ve heard under the seal of your profession.”
But the eyes that looked into his were as wild as those of the man driven with fever. The face of the Venezuelan was jubilant, exalted, like that of a worshipping fanatic.
“The truth!” he whispered breathlessly, “the truth!”
“The boy is raving mad,” protested Peter. “He doesn’t mean it. You have heard nothing!”
From the servants’ quarters there came the sound of hurrying footsteps.