“Señor,” whined the beast, “her lover’s name is not Gonzales, but Diaz, the traitor.” La Pava glared at him murderously. “It was Diaz,” Vicente added with unction, “who shot the officer in the back.”
“You gave me your word——” she began, turning to Lawrence.
“To save ‘Emilio Gonzales,’” he reminded her.
“True, my captain, alas!” Her black lashes drooped over a message of love. “But you will set me free?”
“When I see the guns.”
Furious, she sprang at Vicente, who stepped back. Haughtily she faced him and spoke shrilly in an Indian dialect. Despite this, her manner reassured Lawrence. Apparently, she was in a mad rage. In reality, she was telling Vicente to take the underground passage from Ulloa Castle to the hospital and warn Diaz. “Do this,” she was saying, “and I’ll see no more of Fernando. You will have me—you alone—for life.”
She ended with what seemed a torrent of invective. Vicente played his part—with his heart afire, he seemed to Lawrence merely scornful.
“Hasta la vista, señor.” Vicente, triumphant, sauntered toward the castle.
“Ugh!” said La Pava, with deep loathing. “He is but carrion. Because I do not give myself to him he would destroy his rival.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Will you take me to the hospital?”
“We are going there now.”