Stooping over, he caught the gleam of a knife, and in the same breath twisted it out of her fingers.
“You are quick, señor. But some day I will get you—you who would not take my word.”
The sergeant returned and reported, “I can find nothing, sir.” Then, seeing the knife, he added, “Put her in irons, sir?”
Lawrence knew her breed; she would be flattered by handcuffs and would consider him a weakling.
“No, sergeant. The lady will walk with me.”
Through the streets to prison, wafting a powerful scent of perfumed powder, she walked at Lawrence’s side, using her eyes with that dazzling effect known only to women of the tropics.
He would confront her with Vicente, Lawrence thought, but as the battlements of Ulloa Castle came in sight, the “Place of Executions” suggested another idea.
“Halt!” He formed a firing platoon and blind-folded the prisoner. Thinking of Vicente’s story of the guns, he asserted, as if he meant it, “With my own eyes, during the fighting, I saw your gun boxes taken from the arsenal. Where are they now?”
La Pava gave no answer. She folded her arms and held her head proudly.
“Ready!... Aim!...” Lawrence raised the muzzle of the sergeant’s gun; the men, following this lead, aimed high.