"Well, you got Congosta's message all right then," he said, going to the cupboard and getting out the whisky and soda. "You know what an unholy mess I've managed to make of things."
The Colonel, who was standing in a stiff and military attitude, made a slight gesture of assent.
"Sir Antony!" he said, "I am a soldier, and it is my habit to speak plain words. I will not hide my opinion that with regard to the Princess you have failed us badly."
Tony splashed out a full-handed allowance of old Glenlivet and sprinkled it carefully with soda.
"Go on," he said encouragingly. "Say exactly what you like."
He handed the glass to the Colonel, who took a long and apparently satisfactory drink.
"At the same time," continued the latter, "I do not wish to be ungrateful. If what Señor Congosta tells me is true, you have done your best to make up for your fault. These cartridges—" he set down the empty tumbler—"these cartridges, which I understand you have presented to the army, may yet be the means of saving Livadia."
"That's good," observed Tony. "But how are you going to get them to Portriga?"
The Colonel made a gesture with his hand. "There is no difficulty. The river which you see runs up within two miles of the town, and both banks are strongly held by our men."
"What about the people here—the coast-guards and police? Are they on your side?"