I pronounced it in the English fashion but Bard gave the word its rasping Spanish aspirate as he repeated it.
"El Cojo?" he queried. "That's a nickname, isn't it? What is he? A bull-fighter, or a cigar?"
"I gather," I remarked, "that he's a gentleman of fortune!"
Bard laughed.
"The production of that type is an old industry in these parts, my boy," he riposted. "And even I don't know 'em all. I never heard of your pal. Is he a citizen of this illustrious republic?"
I shook my head.
"I haven't an idea," I answered. "I only know that a man called Black Pablo is mixed up with him...."
John Bard whistled softly.
"'Dime con quien andas, decirte de quien eres,'" he quoted. "That is to say, tell me whom you go with and I'll tell you who you are. If your pal is a friend of Black Pablo then he's 'no freend o' mine'!"
"Why?"