"Sst," Davila warned. "Miss Prescott is coming back. Let's change the subject."

"Of course," Vardieno said. "There is no sense in involving her in this."

"This is quite a turnout," Hall was saying when Giselle Prescott and Quinones rejoined the group. "I think that every nation is represented by its Amba.s.sador here."

"Every nation but Spain," Quinones said. "El Tovarich took care of that by insulting the Amba.s.sador and the Chief of the Spanish State."

"It's true," Vardieno said. "Spain is a good customer for our nation, but El Tovarich is so angry at Generalissimo Franco for destroying communism in the Motherland that he is deliberately trying to destroy this trade in order to get even with Franco."

"He not only insulted Spain," Quinones said. "In his speech to the University, El Tovarich said that only the so-called fascists in San Hermano supported Franco."

"Sounds like our pinkos back home," Giselle Prescott said to Hall.

Fernandez exploded. "I am a good Catholic," he snapped. "I am pious.

During the Civil War I supported Franco. I was proud to support him. I not only supported Franco, but I was delighted to hail Hitler and Mussolini as n.o.ble allies in the struggle against Jewish Bolshevism. But am I a fascist? I defy any man to call me a fascist or a Falangist to my face!"

Davila turned to both Hall and Giselle Prescott. "Now don't jump to any false conclusions about Don Jose," he smiled. "After all, you Americans are not Reds because you welcome the G.o.dless Russian armies of Stalin as your allies in this present war, are you?"

"Bull's-eye!" Giselle Prescott laughed. "I'm delighted to hear you both talk like this. Back home only the Reds and the pinkos were for the so-called Spanish Loyalists during the war." She opened her tiny purse and found a leather address book. "Gimme a pencil or a pen, will you, Hall?"

"Sure. What for?"

"I want to put down what Senor Fernandez and Senor Davila just said before I forget. I'm doing a piece for a mag and these quotes would just fit in. May I quote you, gentlemen?"

"I have nothing to conceal," Fernandez said proudly.

Davila was very gracious. "Of course you may use these remarks. But please don't use Don Jose's name in your article. It might be misunderstood. You see, Don Jose has many enemies in the Jewish and radical press in your country."

"On my honor as a Girl Scout," she said, "I'll use the quotes but not the names."

"You've got quite a story there," Hall said. He was looking into the mob on the dance floor for a sign of Jerry. Her red hair was not to be found, but Margaret Skidmore, dancing with a bemedaled diplomat, caught his eye and gestured that she would join him at the end of that dance.

She took him away from the group in a few minutes and led him toward the American bar she had rigged up for the party.

"They sure were talking at you for a while," she said. "I could see them giving it to you with both barrels."

"That they were. What is the lowdown, anyway? Are those boys completely right about Tabio?"

Margaret was amused. "Oh, they're a gang of hotheads, I warn you. But nice. I suspect that our friend Giselle is going to find Don Jose particularly nice."

"Meow!"

"I'm not a cat. I just know Giselle."

"Let's talk about San Hermano politics. I think you know plenty in that little head of yours."

"Oh, I do. But tonight's a party. I've got to be Daddy's good little Hostess."

"Like it?"

"Bores me silly," Margaret said.

"Perhaps we can talk some other time?"

"Tomorrow would be swell. I have to go to my place in Juarez early in the morning. Why don't you come out for lunch? It's a two-hour ride by train from San Hermano. I think you can make a train at eleven."

"Tomorrow?" Hall hesitated.

"I wish you'd make it," the girl said with a sudden intensity.

"It's a date."

"I'll meet you at the station."

They joined her father and one of the Emba.s.sy secretaries at the bar.

Hall had a Cuba Libre, and was introduced to a South American painter.

He listened to the painter talk to the Amba.s.sador about the beauties of Arizona, watched J. Burton Skidmore gravely shake hands with the painter and mutter, "_Con mucho gusto_." Then the painter asked Margaret to dance and, when she left, Hall wandered off to look for Jerry.

He found her at the punch bowl with Ansaldo. "May I ask Miss Olmstead for this dance?" he asked the doctor.

"Just this one dance," Jerry said, "I'll be right back."

She put her cheek against his, softly hummed the tune the band was playing.

"It's nice to have you in my arms," he said.

"It's nice to be in your arms."

He held her closer. They danced well together. So well that when Jerry said it would be better if they did not dance again that night, Hall made up his mind to leave at once. "I can't hang around and watch you dancing with Ansaldo all night," he said.

"Why, Ma.s.sa Hall," she said, "Ah swain Ah do believe you-all are jealous!"

"Did Duarte give you English lessons in one rumba, too?"

"You're a goof," she laughed.

He took her back to Ansaldo, paid his respects to the Amba.s.sador, and looked for Duarte. The Mexican was talking to the tall young wife of the Vichy Amba.s.sador.

"Felipe," Hall tugged at Duarte's sleeve, "I am afraid that I must go now."

"I'll go with you, if you're alone. Madame, _enchante_ ..." He winked at Hall as he kissed Madame la Comtesse's hand. "Now we must pay our respects to our host."

"I already have."

"Come with me while I do. I never miss it. He has kept me from squandering my money. I bet with myself on him, and I always lose. So Felipe pays Duarte, and Duarte supports Felipe."

"What the h.e.l.l are you babbling about now?"

"Your Amba.s.sador. He is an original, Mateo. For three years he draws me to his parties as a lodestone draws baser metals. In three years, he has learned exactly three words of Spanish: _'Con mucho gusto_.' Of course he still says them with a gringo accent, but anyone can recognize what he means.