"No," said Bell bluntly. "I would like to speak to the Senhorina Canalejas, though."
Francia chuckled.
"She left for Buenos Aires last night. The Senhor Ribiera sent a most impatient message for her to be sent on at once. I regretted it, but he had The Master's authority. I thought her charming, myself."
The skin about Bell's knuckles was white. His hands had clenched savagely.
"In that event," he said coldly, "the only other courtesy I would ask is that of following her as soon as possible."
Francia rose languidly. The revolver dangled by his side, but his grip upon it was firm. He smiled at Bell with the same effect of a horrible, ghastly geniality.
"Within the hour, Señor," he said urbanely. "With the guard I shall place over you it is no harm, I am sure, to observe that The Master is at his retreat in Punta Arenas. You will go there to-morrow, as I go to-night."
He moved toward the door, and smiled again, and added pleasantly:
"The Senhorina was delivered to the Senhor Ribiera this morning."