Morning came, and with it the colonel, on Hemming's white stallion.
"I see," said he, in Portuguese, "that Captain Santosa has returned."
Hemming nodded. The colonel pressed a tremulous hand to a flushed forehead.
"Damn it," he cried, "I would not have done so. This place is the devil. The ice factory has shut down, and my drink has been warm for two days."
"Very interesting," replied the Englishman, "but if you have nothing more important to tell me, you will excuse me if I return to my bed."
The colonel raised his hand.
"One moment," said he.
Then he ordered his men out of ear-shot. He rolled a cigarette, and lit it with unseemly deliberation.
"I have been remarkably polite and friendly," he said, "but now I have your steamer, and the crew in prison, and unless, my dear fellow, we can agree—" He stopped, and removed his hat, the better to rub his brow. Hemming yawned.
"The army," continued the Brazilian, "is in a dangerous mood. Unless you give me five thousand milreis to-night,—only five thousand milreis,—I fear that I can restrain my brave soldiers no longer. But say nothing of it to Señor Cuddlehead."