are strangers to this country, you would not know me.”
Ansell started as if he’d been stung.
“Pablo,” Myra repeated. “Sounds like something to rub on your chest.”
The fat party smiled again. “The little man has heard of me. Is it not so, seńor?”
I’d heard of him, too, and when Ansell said “Yes” very feebly, I sympathized with him.
“Then tell your friends who I am,” Pablo went on. “Tell them that Pancho Villa and Zapata finished where I began. Tell them about my fortress in the mountains and of the men that have been bricked up in its walls. Tell them of the excellent fellows that work under me, and of the trains we have dynamited. Come, seńor, where is your tongue?”
Ansell looked round at us and nodded his head. “That’s the boy,” he said nervously.
“If Samuel will play the harmonica, we’ll give him a civic reception,” Myra said lightly.
“After which he’ll be presented with a little flag and a string beg to keep his silly looking hat in and then, with luck, we’ll all go to bed.”
I felt she wasn’t being exactly helpful.
Pablo played with his handkerchief. “It is Myra Shumway … that is the name, yes?”
“Fame at last,” Myra said, a little surprised. “How are you, Doctor Livingstone?”
“And you, seńor, Ross Millan?”
Bogle sat up. “I’m Sam Bogle,” he said. “Please to meet you.”
“Shut your mouth, you dog,” Pablo said, his eyes boring holes into Bogle, “or I will cut your tongue out.”
Bogle gaped at him. “Well, I’ll be…!” he gasped.
I kicked his chin under the table and told him to take it easy.
Pablo wandered over to the table, drew up a chair and sat down near Myra. He moved very lightly for his bulk.
Myra drew away from him.
“There is much to talk about,” he said, reaching for the jar of wine that stood on the table. He poured the sour red wine into Myra’s glass, then held the glass up to the light of the lamp.
“Your pretty mouth leaves marks,” he said smiling at Myra. “Your kisses could be dangerous,” and he shook with a spasm of laughter.
“Mind you don’t bust your corset,” Myra said, alarmed.
Pablo crushed the glass in his hand. The wine and glass splinters spattered the table. Bogle half started from his chair, but I again touched him under the table. I could have smacked Myra. Either she was being the dumbest of all blondes or else she had more guts than I and the rest of us put together. Whichever way it was, she was making things bad for us all.
The men in the Square made a move forward. Several of them dropped their hands to their gun butts.
Pablo wiped his hand on his handkerchief and looked with interest at the cut on his palm.
“That was careless of me,” he said, looking at Myra.
“Don’t apologize,” Myra returned. “I had a cousin who was also a mental defective. He had to have cast-iron feeding utensils. I dare say I could arrange the same thing for you at a cut rate.”
“When my women are insolent,” Pablo said dreamily, “I peg them out in the hot sun on an ant-hill.”
Myra twisted round, facing him. “But, I’m not your woman, fat boy,” she said. “You can take your little bandits out of here and feed them through a sausage machine.”
I said quickly: “Don’t mind her. That’s just her sense of humour.”
Pablo wrapped his handkerchief round his hand. “Very interesting sense of humour. If my woman talks like that I cut her tongue out. She loses her sense of humour very quick then.”
I felt it was time to take a more active part in the conversation. “Tell me, seńor, is there something particular that you wish to discuss with us?” I asked, offering him a cigarette from my case.
“Yes,” he said, waving away the cigarette. “Something very important” He picked up the newspaper which he had dropped on the floor. I recognized the Recorder. “You will see why I am interested in the seńorita,” and he spread the newspaper on the table.
I
Ansell started as if he’d been stung.
“Pablo,” Myra repeated. “Sounds like something to rub on your chest.”
The fat party smiled again. “The little man has heard of me. Is it not so, seńor?”
I’d heard of him, too, and when Ansell said “Yes” very feebly, I sympathized with him.
“Then tell your friends who I am,” Pablo went on. “Tell them that Pancho Villa and Zapata finished where I began. Tell them about my fortress in the mountains and of the men that have been bricked up in its walls. Tell them of the excellent fellows that work under me, and of the trains we have dynamited. Come, seńor, where is your tongue?”
Ansell looked round at us and nodded his head. “That’s the boy,” he said nervously.
“If Samuel will play the harmonica, we’ll give him a civic reception,” Myra said lightly.
“After which he’ll be presented with a little flag and a string beg to keep his silly looking hat in and then, with luck, we’ll all go to bed.”
I felt she wasn’t being exactly helpful.
Pablo played with his handkerchief. “It is Myra Shumway … that is the name, yes?”
“Fame at last,” Myra said, a little surprised. “How are you, Doctor Livingstone?”
“And you, seńor, Ross Millan?”
Bogle sat up. “I’m Sam Bogle,” he said. “Please to meet you.”
“Shut your mouth, you dog,” Pablo said, his eyes boring holes into Bogle, “or I will cut your tongue out.”
Bogle gaped at him. “Well, I’ll be…!” he gasped.
I kicked his chin under the table and told him to take it easy.
Pablo wandered over to the table, drew up a chair and sat down near Myra. He moved very lightly for his bulk.
Myra drew away from him.
“There is much to talk about,” he said, reaching for the jar of wine that stood on the table. He poured the sour red wine into Myra’s glass, then held the glass up to the light of the lamp.
“Your pretty mouth leaves marks,” he said smiling at Myra. “Your kisses could be dangerous,” and he shook with a spasm of laughter.
“Mind you don’t bust your corset,” Myra said, alarmed.
Pablo crushed the glass in his hand. The wine and glass splinters spattered the table. Bogle half started from his chair, but I again touched him under the table. I could have smacked Myra. Either she was being the dumbest of all blondes or else she had more guts than I and the rest of us put together. Whichever way it was, she was making things bad for us all.
The men in the Square made a move forward. Several of them dropped their hands to their gun butts.
Pablo wiped his hand on his handkerchief and looked with interest at the cut on his palm.
“That was careless of me,” he said, looking at Myra.
“Don’t apologize,” Myra returned. “I had a cousin who was also a mental defective. He had to have cast-iron feeding utensils. I dare say I could arrange the same thing for you at a cut rate.”
“When my women are insolent,” Pablo said dreamily, “I peg them out in the hot sun on an ant-hill.”
Myra twisted round, facing him. “But, I’m not your woman, fat boy,” she said. “You can take your little bandits out of here and feed them through a sausage machine.”
I said quickly: “Don’t mind her. That’s just her sense of humour.”
Pablo wrapped his handkerchief round his hand. “Very interesting sense of humour. If my woman talks like that I cut her tongue out. She loses her sense of humour very quick then.”
I felt it was time to take a more active part in the conversation. “Tell me, seńor, is there something particular that you wish to discuss with us?” I asked, offering him a cigarette from my case.
“Yes,” he said, waving away the cigarette. “Something very important” He picked up the newspaper which he had dropped on the floor. I recognized the Recorder. “You will see why I am interested in the seńorita,” and he spread the newspaper on the table.
I
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