Bell felt his cigarette burning his fingers. He had sat rigid until the thing burned short. He crushed out the coal, looking at Ortiz.
And Ortiz seemed to gasp for breath. But with an almost superhuman effort he calmed himself outwardly.
"I—think," he said with some difficulty, "that I should thank you. I do. But I do not think that you told me all of this without some motive. I abandon the service of The Master. But what is it that you wish me to do? You know, of course, that I can order both of you killed...."
Bell put down the stub of his cigarette very carefully.
"The only thing you can do," he said quietly, "is to die."
"True," said Ortiz with a ghastly smile. "But I would like my death to perform some service. The Master has no enemies save you two, and those of us who die on becoming his enemies. I would like, in dying, to do him some harm."
"I will promise," said Jamison grimly, "to see that The Master dies himself if you will have Bell and myself put in a plane with fuel to Punta Arenas and a reasonable supply of weapons. I include the Señorita Canalejas as a matter of course."
Ortiz looked from one to the other. And suddenly he smiled once more. It was queer, that smile. It was not quite mirthless.