was thronged with bareheaded women buying fruit and carne; we heard the twang and tinkle of string bands in the patios of the cantinas. We could see that it was a waiting game that Don Rafael was playing.
“His residencia was a large but low building around a great courtyard in grounds crowded with ornamental trees and tropic shrubs. At his door an old woman who came informed us that Don Rafael had not yet arisen.
“‘Tell him,’ said I, ‘that Captain Maloné and a friend wish to see him at once. Perhaps he has overslept.’
“She came back looking frightened.
“‘I have called,’ she said, ‘and rung his bell many times, but he does not answer.’
“I knew where his sleeping-room was. Kearny and I pushed by her and went to it. I put my shoulder against the thin door and forced it open.
“In an armchair by a great table covered with maps and books sat Don Rafael with his eyes closed. I touched his hand. He had been dead many hours. On his head above one ear was a wound caused by a heavy blow. It had ceased to bleed long before.
“I made the old woman call a mozo, and dispatched him in haste to fetch Herr Bergowitz.
“He came, and we stood about as if we were half stunned by the awful shock. Thus can the letting of a few drops of blood from one man’s veins drain the life of a nation.
“Presently Herr Bergowitz stooped and picked up a darkish stone the size of an orange which he saw under the table. He examined it closely through his great glasses with the eye of science.
