“Quite true,” replied Guy Rossett in his curtest manner. Whatever fate was in store for him, he was not going to knuckle under to this crew of bloodthirsty ruffians.
Contraras continued in his calm, imperturbable manner.
“I cannot say that, up to the present, you have done us very much harm, but still you are a menace to our schemes, our aspirations.”
“I am pleased to hear that I am of sufficient importance to justify this mock tribunal.” Rossett waved his hand contemptuously at the masked men sitting in judgment on him.
The eyes of Contraras flashed through his mask. He took his position very seriously.
“Mr Rossett, let me advise you, in your own interests, not to carry matters with too high a hand. Kindly recognise your position. If you were seated in the Calle Fernando el Santo, I admit you would be top dog. At the present moment the brotherhood, here in this obscure house, in this obscure quarter of the city of Madrid, is in that enviable situation.”
A bitter retort was on Rossett’s lips, but he thought he perceived an almost imperceptible gesture of warning from the short, squat figure in the corner near the door. He temporised.
“The fortunes of war, I admit, are with you, sir. I am sorry I have not the advantage of knowing whom I have the honour to address.”
Contraras was, at heart, a gentleman. He felt the sting of the rebuke.
“Mr Rossett, if you come into line with us to-night, I may deal with you quite frankly. Before we separate, you may know as much about me as I do about you.”