"Is she in Havana?"
The Spaniard laughed softly.
Then he nodded toward Ignacio.
"Ask him," he said. "He keeps track of such people for us. She has been here some time now; and people who get into our prisons don't—ha! ha! they don't get out in a hurry, do them, Ignacio?"
"No, senor."
"And then she is very pretty, too," added the officer, with a laugh.
To the agony those remarks were raising in the mind of poor Clif those two brutal men seemed quite insensible. Or perhaps they were teasing him.
But if so, the officer had enough then, for he turned upon his heel impatiently.
"Enough of this nonsense," he said. "You need not worry about your sweetheart, for you will probably be dead by to-morrow."
And the man turned to the soldiers.