Mrs. Rich. Well, we got there and at that time there was the colonel and another middle-aged woman, kind of a real old granite face I would describe her, steel-gray hair. Looked rather mannish. And there was a rather——
Mr. Hubert. Did you know her name?
Mrs. Rich. No; I was introduced. Names were mentioned around. I don’t recall it. And then there was another rather pugnacious-looking fellow, who looked at though he might have been an ex-prizefighter.
Mr. Hubert. Were you introduced to him?
Mrs. Rich. I was introduced to everyone.
Mr. Hubert. Who else was there?
Mrs. Rich. The colonel, the woman, and the prizefighter type, a couple of other men that just kind of sat off in the corner. One of them looked rather dark, like he might have been Cuban or Latin American, and Dave, my husband, and myself.
Mr. Hubert. Tell us what happened at that meeting.
Mrs. Rich. Well, apparently from what I could discern, they had some kind of a hitch in their plans. And at that time I point blank spoke up and said, “Well, suppose we discuss the plans in full before we”—meaning my husband and myself—“get into this. I would like to know what we are getting into. And at this point you know by now I certainly have a say in this matter.” Then it came out—boom—quite blank. We were going to bring Cuban refugees out—but we were going to run military supplies and Enfield rifles in.
Mr. Hubert. Who made that statement?