“Well, what else?” asked the other, tapping the floor with his foot.
“Be calm!”
“Then why did you come in such a hurry?”
The curate drew nearer to him and asked mysteriously, “Haven’t—you—heard
—anything?”
The alferez shrugged his shoulders.
“You admit that you know absolutely nothing?”
“Do you want to talk about Elias, who put away your senior sacristan last night?” was the retort.
“No, I’m not talking about those matters,” answered the curate ill-naturedly.
“I’m talking about a great danger.”
“Well, damn it, out with it!”
“Come,” said the friar slowly and disdainfully, “you see once more how important we ecclesiastics are. The meanest lay brother is worth as much as a regiment, while a curate—”
Then he added in a low and mysterious tone, “I’ve discovered a big conspiracy!”
The alferez started up and gazed in astonishment at the friar.
“A terrible and well-organized plot, which will be carried out this very night.”
“This very night!” exclaimed the alferez, pushing the curate aside and running to his revolver and sword hanging on the wall.
“Who’ll I arrest? Who’ll I arrest?” he cried.
“Calm yourself! There is still time, thanks to the promptness with which I have acted. We have till eight o’clock.”
“I’ll shoot all of them!”
“Listen ! This afternoon a woman whose name I can’t reveal (it’s a secret of the confessional) came to me and told everything. At eight o’clock they will seize the barracks by surprise, plunder the convento, capture the police boat, and murder all of us Spaniards.”
The alferez was stupefied.
“The woman did not tell me any more than this,” added the curate.
“She didn’t tell any more? Then I’ll arrest her!”
“I can’t consent to that. The bar of penitence is the throne of the God of mercies.”
“There’s neither God nor mercies that amount to anything! I’ll arrest her!”
“You’re losing your head! What you must do is to get yourself ready. Muster your soldiers quietly and put them in ambush, send me four guards for the convento, and notify the men in charge of the boat.”
“The boat isn’t here. I’ll ask for help from the other sections.”
“No, for then the plotters would be warned and would not carry out their plans.
What we must do is to catch them alive and make them talk—I mean, you’ll make them talk, since I, as a priest, must not meddle in such matters. Listen, here’s where you win crosses and stars. I ask only that you make due acknowledgment that it was I who warned you.”
“It’ll be acknowledged, Padre, it’ll be acknowledged—and perhaps you’ll get a
miter!” answered the glowing alferez, glancing at the cuffs of his uniform.
“So, you send me four guards in plain clothes, eh? Be discreet, and tonight at eight o’clock it’ll rain stars and crosses.”
While all this was taking place, a man ran along the road leading to Ibarra’s house and rushed up the stairway.
“Is your master here?” the voice of Elias called to a servant.
“He’s in his study at work.”
Ibarra, to divert the impatience that he felt while waiting for the time when he could make his explanations to Maria Clara, had set himself to work in his laboratory.
“Ah, that you, Elias?” he exclaimed. “I was thinking about you. Yesterday I forgot to ask you the name of that Spaniard in whose house your grandfather lived.”
“Let’s not talk about me, sir—”
“Look,” continued Ibarra, not noticing the youth’s agitation, while he placed a piece of bamboo over a flame, “I’ve made a great discovery. This bamboo is incombustible.”
“It’s not a question of bamboo now, sir, it’s a question of your collecting your papers and fleeing at this very moment.”
