the long hours of waiting and listening for something to happen, both the men would have been glad to have been on their own. This constant small talk that led nowhere and social politeness which neither found to his mood had become irksome. Quentin found himself wishing that she would go away, but she had sat quietly in the chair all the long afternoon, speaking when spoken to, but otherwise retaining a brooding silence.
Both the men had given up finally in despair, and for the past hour there was a heavy strained silence, broken only by the rustle of a turning page and the creak of a chair, as Morecombre shifted from one position to another.
Suddenly from out of the darkness came three rifle-shots. They sounded very close. Morecombre sprang to his feet. “Did you hear that?” he asked, rather unnecessarily.
Quentin was already up and crossed the room to turn out the light. Then he stumbled over to the window and peered out. But for the flickering lights on the waterfront he could see nothing. They listened in the darkness. Faintly they could hear someone shouting, and then two more shots sounded. This time they caught a glimpse of the flash from a rifle. It was just outside the hotel.
“Maybe the sentry’s gettin’ the wind-up,” Quentin said. “I noticed a man at the gate this afternoon.”
Morecombre fumed. “He must be shooting at something,” he said, going out on to the verandah.
Quentin reached forward and jerked him back. “Keep off there, Bill,” he advised. “In this moonlight you’d be quite a target.”
Morecombre hastily stepped into the room and put on the light again. “Well, I suppose this is about all we can do,” he said irritably, “just sit around and wonder. I tell you I’m getting mighty fed up with doing nothing.”
The door jerked open, and a young lieutenant walked in. Behind him stood two soldiers, their rifles hovering in the direction of the two Americans. “You’ll pardon me,” the Lieutenant said in careful English, “for interrupting you.”
Quentin said, “What was that shooting?”
The Lieutenant shrugged. “A little disturbance. It is purely a local affair. I assure you it is well in hand by now.”
Quentin concealed his impatience. “Well, Lieutenant, what can I do for you?”
The Lieutenant glanced round the room until his eyes rested on Myra. A thin little smile came to his sharp- featured face, and he bowed from the waist. “General Fuentes presents his compliments, and wishes you to dine with him,” he said.
Myra lifted her chin. “Will you thank the General and tell him that I have already dined?”
There was a long pause. The Lieutenant stood, the thin smile still on his mouth, his eyes slowly travelling over her with appraising, insolent stare.
Quentin said quietly, “Is that all?”
The Lieutenant ignored him. He said to Myra: “Senorita doesn’t understand. This is—how shall I put it?—a command invitation, yes?”
Quentin eased his way between the Lieutenant and Myra. “Perhaps I could make things a little easier for you, Lieutenant,” he said. “Miss Arnold does not wish to dine with the General. She has already dined and she prefers to stay here under my protection.”
The Lieutenant appeared to see him for the first time. He gave an elaborate start. “Senor would be advised not to interfere in this matter,” he said. “Escaping prisoners are unfortunately shot.” He looked significantly at the two soldiers. “I am sure senorita would not wish to be the cause of such a distressing occurrence?”
Quentin said: “You’re bluffing. Miss Arnold stays here with me.”
Myra suddenly stood up. “No,” she said, “I will go. He is quite right. It would be absurd for you to be hurt because of me. You have important work to do. I will come with you,” she said, turning to the Lieutenant.
At a sign from him, the two soldiers took a step forward, bringing their rifles to the ready.
“One movement from either of these men,” the Lieutenant said sharply, “you are to shoot them like dogs. Come, senorita, let us have no more of this play-acting.” He stepped to the door and jerked it open.
Myra hesitated, then walked out quietly. The Lieutenant followed her, shutting the door behind her.
He overtook her in the passage. “The General has a suite on the second floor to this,” he said; “you would be advised to be as accommodating as possible to the General. He is a man who has what he wants and it is unfortunate that he has—what shall I say?”—he flicked his fingers impatiently—“no finesse, is that the word? You understand, senorita?”
Myra stopped and faced him. “Am I to understand that you are acting in the capacity of a procurer, Lieutenant?” she said coldly.
The Lieutenant started as if she had struck him. His yellowish skin darkened. “You will find that an unfortunate remark,” he said, his eyes gleaming angrily. “Since you prefer such candour, I see no reason why you should not realize the position you are in. The General will not tolerate any nonsense from you. Unless you are prepared to be entirely passive, you will be held to the bed by soldiers. Now do you understand?”
Myra didn’t flinch. She said quietly: “Please take me immediately to General Fuentes. I am sure he will be interested to hear what you have just said.”
The Lieutenant went very pale. “But, senorita—surely…”he stammered.
She walked past him and mounted the stairs. Her face was set in a cold, hard mask. The Lieutenant ran after her and caught her at the head of the stairs. “Senorita, I have to apologize. My remarks were entirely out of place. I wish to withdraw them.” Sweat had started out on his face, and he endeavoured to smile, succeeding only in making a terrified grimace.
She took no notice of him at all, but continued to walk down the corridor to where a soldier stood with fixed bayonet. He saw her as she approached, and a little smirk crossed his fat, oily face. He rapped on the door and threw it open. “The senorita,” he said.
The General stood by the open french windows. He looked up eagerly as Myra came in. “This is going to be a beautiful evening,” he said, advancing with his hand outstretched. There was no smile on his face. His eyes, like little glass pebbles, took in her beauty possessively.
Myra ignored his hand. She said: “Is it true, General, that you employ your soldiers to assist you in your love-making?”
The General stood transfixed. Blood mounted to his face, and he half raised his hand as if he was about to strike her. She met his furious eyes without flinching. For several seconds he was so nonplussed that he could only make little spluttering noises, then he jerked out, “How dare you say such a thing?”
“I thought there must be some misunderstanding. Your Lieutenant told me that I was to expect no mercy from you, and that if I did not submit to you, I was to be held down on your bed by your soldiers.” The scorn and contempt in her voice nearly drove the General crazy. She stood very erect, her eyes flashing and her hands clenched by her side. She knew that everything depended on keeping the General angry. “I am relieved you are angry, General,” she went on. “I did not believe for a moment that a man who has risen to your high rank would tolerate such an insufferable insult to a woman. Perhaps you will correct your Lieutenant’s conception of you. It is not flattering.”
Fuentes took a quick step forward and gripped her wrist. His face was white with fury. “Did he really say that?” he demanded.
Myra, feeling a little sick, said: “I have had enough of Cuban hospitality for tonight. Would you please take me back to my room.”
She turned to the door and opened it. The soldier on guard gaped at her, and made a half-hearted attempt to stop her, but she brushed past him and walked down the passage. She heard the General’s light step behind her and she had to make an effort not to break into a run. He overtook her at the head of the stairs. “It is most unfortunate that you should have received such treatment. Will you reconsider your decision and return to my suite? I can assure you of my protection. As for Lieutenant Cartez, I shall discipline him severely.”
Keeping her voice steady, Myra said: “You must excuse me, General, but I have had a considerable shock. Your generosity, when you have me entirely at a disadvantage, is worthy of the highest traditions of your race. Please don’t think that I’m ungrateful.” She gave him a frightened little smile and ran downstairs. The General watched her go. He was like a stupefied bull in the ring, transfixed by the sudden flip of a matador’s cape.
He stood very silent at the head of the stairs until she had gone from his sight. His face was twisted with vicious fury, then he jerked round and barked to the sentry, “Send Lieutenant Cartez to me at once.”
The sentry, round-eyed with fear, moved hurriedly to obey. Fuentes raised his hand. “Wait,” he said. “In an
