"And if ransom is refused?"

"Then they will be shot."

"How do you know?"

"The General says so."

"Will he keep his word?"

"Yes."

"How do you know?"

"He has sworn it."

"When is it to be?"

"To-morrow."

"Why are you here?"

"I am waiting."

"What for?"

"A message."

"From where?"

"Ciudad Bolivar."

"What message?"

"A reply."

"What?"

"To the General's."

"What was his message?"

"If the ransom is not promised by midnight the prisoners will be shot to-morrow."

"Has he had no message before?"

"Yes."

"What was it?"

"The President refused to pay a ransom."

"The General repeated his demand?"

"Yes."

"Does he expect consent?"

"No; it is a last attempt."

"You are speaking the truth?"

"Yes."

There was no doubt of it. The man's terror was so evident that he would scarcely have had the wits to invent a falsehood. Nor could he know what information Will already had. His answers indeed gave Will nothing of which he was not already aware, except the whereabouts of the prisoners.

Will stood for a moment thinking, still pointing his revolver at the abject Spaniard. A desperate scheme had suggested itself. He had already risked much: was it not possible to risk still more? His task with Machado had been unexpectedly easy: might not a greater task prove feasible? It was clear that unless the ransom was agreed to by the time stated, the fate of the prisoners was sealed. It was clear also from what the Jefe at Bolivar had told him that there was not the slightest likelihood of the Government yielding on this point. He knew roughly the direction of General Carabano's hacienda, but recognized how little chance there was of doing anything to help his friends. He could not reach them during the night: the journey was long and dangerous. There remained, as it seemed, one chance: that of intercepting the General's messenger in the morning. He asked another question.

"If the reply from Ciudad Bolivar is unsatisfactory, the General will send a messenger to Las Piedras?"

"He will go himself."

The answer disposed of Will's last hope. The only means of saving the prisoners was to deal with the General himself. It was a desperate game to play in the midst of a hostile camp, but his first move, with Machado, had been successful, and the man was so cowed and terror-stricken that he might prove a serviceable instrument in the larger scheme. Time was running short; it was a quarter past eleven.

Will made up his mind to risk all.

"Dismiss the man at your door," he said. "Tell him that you need him no longer. You will take the message to the General yourself. Attempt no treachery. I will keep my word."

He motioned to Azito, of whose presence Machado seemed to become aware for the first time, to stand behind a clothes-press near the camp-bed.

"Open the door only a few inches," he continued. "Now!"

He stepped behind the door, allowing room for it to open about twelve inches. He could not be seen by the man in the patio, but was able to cover Machado with his revolver. The telegraphist lay for a few moments as though hesitating.

"Quick!" said Will in a fierce whisper.

Machado rose unsteadily and, walking to the door, opened it. In a low voice he called to the sleeping man. There was no reply or movement.

"Kick him!" whispered Will.

Machado touched the man with his foot. He started up. Machado gave him the instruction Will had dictated, and he went off at once, glad enough, no doubt, to find a more comfortable bed. When he was gone, Will closed the door.

"Now, the pa.s.sword," he said.

"_Bolivar_," replied Machado.

But Will marked a slight hesitation before the answer was given.

"Are you sure?" he said fiercely. "A mistake will cost you dear."