The President was now recovering his calmness. "I should have shot you myself," he said, "but I will have it done by a platoon of soldiers,—five soldiers and a corporal."
"The murder will be avenged in either case."
"Why did you stop me, Miguel?"
"It is as he says, Your Excellency," replied the Secretary. "It would have been a tactical error."
The official manner, the style of address, the man's composure, restored the President to his senses. He walked towards the door and stopping at the sideboard helped himself to a glass of brandy with ostentation. "Confiscated," he said, and held it up to the light, "by order of the Government." He swallowed it. "I will see you shot to-morrow," he added, heedless that the other held the pistol.
"I shall be at the Mayoralty," said Savrola; "you may come and fetch me if you dare."
"Revolt!" said the President. "Pooh! I will stamp it out, and you too, before the sun has gone down."
"Perhaps there may be another ending to the tale."
"One or the other," said the President. "You have robbed me of my honour; you are plotting to rob me of my power. There is not room for both of us in the world. You may take your mistress with you to hell."
There was a noise of hasty footsteps on the stairs; Lieutenant Tiro flung open the door, but stopped abruptly in astonishment at the occupants of the room. "I heard a shot," he said.