"But señora," he began hopelessly, "how many times have I said that I have nothing, nothing whatever to do with all this butchery! I would not harm a soul in Rio Negro—no, not for the whole government. I would not—"
But the old creature shook her head, with her mouth quirked in withered satire.
"Ola, señor!" She wagged a finger. "I know, I know." She started to stoop for her brush, but the drummer forestalled her. "I know one little thing that tells me all, no matter what you admit or deny."
Strawbridge looked at her.
"What's that?"
"I refer to...." She wagged her head vaguely and looked at the American with narrowed and disapproving eyes.
"What are you talking about, Doña Consolacion?"
"I was down at the riverside on the night when the soldiers flung the body of the dead man into the water."
The salesman stared at her, with his brows drawn in a faint frown.
"Well ... what of that?"