"And now," he said dryly, "I suppose the Señor Francia will receive me?"
There was more agitation. The six men remained; with their weapons pointed at him. The seventh departed, and Bell re-dressed himself in a leisurely fashion.
Ten minutes later a slender, dark skinned man with impeccably waxed moustaches entered, regarded Bell with an entirely impersonal interest, took one of the revolvers from one of the six frock-coated gentlemen, and seated himself comfortably. He waved his hand and they filed uneasily from the room. So far, not one word had been spoken.
Bell retrieved his cigarette case and lighted up with every appearance of ease.
"I have come," he said casually, "to request that I be sent to The Master. I believe that he is anxious to meet me."
The dark eyes scrutinized him coldly. Then Francia smiled.
"Pero si," he said negligently, "he is very anxious to see you. I suppose you know what fate awaits you?"
His smile was amiable and apparently quite friendly, but Bell shrugged.
"I suppose," he said dryly, "he wants to converse with me. I have been his most successful opponent to date, I think."