I watched her as far as the first landing and then, opening the door, came back into the sitting-room.
Billy had shifted the two prisoners into the centre of the floor, and was seated comfortably on the edge of the table smoking a pipe.
"It's all right," I said. "The woman's in London, and I've found Mercia. She'll be ready to come with us directly."
He nodded. "I heard you."
"How's Guarez?" I asked, going across to my injured enemy.
"So that's Guarez, is it?" said Billy, slipping off the table. "Oh, he's all right; you've only smashed his face a bit. There's no real damage done; I've been having a squint at him."
It must be admitted that my late adversary was not a pretty sight. He lay on the floor saying nothing, but glaring savagely at us out of one eye. The other had temporarily struck work.
"He's had enough, anyway," I said; "but I've got one or two words to say to the other gentleman. Let me introduce you. Señor Rojas of San Luca, Mr. William Logan of London. Billy, what do you think one ought to do to a man who crushes a girl's arm till it's nearly broken?"
"Flog him," said Billy cheerfully.
A muffled imprecation—too poignant to repeat, I am afraid—broke from the prostrate Dago.