Watching the proceedings from a window at the “Jockey Club Hotel” were the Marquis de la Torre and Natividad, both wild with impatience, for their only hope now lay in Garcia.

At Pisco, they had ended by discovering that the Bride of the Sun’s escort had embarked in the very steam-tug used to tow the Marquis’ own barges from the Chincha Islands to Callao. This once again proved that the scheme had been well thought out and prepared long in advance, the Indians about Maria-Teresa being in the plot.

Securing a boat in their turn, the pursuers followed to Mollendo. There they took the train, and reached Arequipa only a few hours after the Red Ponchos—Uncle Francis still supernaturally calm, and Natividad beginning to despair of everything.

Chance favored them when they landed in this city of mad people, who would not even trouble to answer questions. Dick recognized Huascar strolling through the streets, and tracked him to the house where Maria-Teresa and her brother were kept prisoners. This was a low adobe building on the edge of the suburbs, and quite close to the Rio de Chili. It was openly guarded by a dozen armed Indians in red ponchos. Dick and the Marquis soon found, however, that they could not even get as near as that line of guards. Fifty yards away from the house, Civil Guards stopped them, and ordered them back. Garcia’s own troops were guarding the Virgin of the Sun!

“Of course, Garcia cannot know,” said the Marquis. “I know him, and though he has faults, he is not a savage. He once wanted to marry Maria-Teresa. Let us go and find him.”

But Dick refused to lose sight of the adobe house. Had they listened to him, they would have forced their way to it at once. It was only after long arguing that Natividad convinced him such a step would be absurd. Lives are cheap during revolutions, and two or three corpses more or less in the Rio de Chili would not make it overflow its banks. Nor would they contribute greatly to the freeing of Maria-Teresa and little Christobal.

He promised to be reasonable, but would not go with them when they returned to the inn for a meal; instead, he took up his post in a boat on the river, and thence watched his fiancée’s prison and the armed men walking up and down before.

The Marquis and Natividad therefore, witnessed Garcia’s triumph alone. Uncle Francis had been lost, or rather, had been left alone in the middle of the street, staring up at the Misti. He was now doubtless in the crowd somewhere, taking notes.

Garcia in all his glory was a sight which did not please the Marquis.

“I never thought he was that kind of man,” he commented, “though I always suspected he had negro blood in his veins.”

“Drunk with success,” replied Natividad drily.

After the review, they followed the Dictator and his staff only to find their way barred by troops at the road leading down to the headquarters. Here the Marquis ordered the men out of the way with such insolence, and spoke with such assurance of “his friend Garcia,” that he was allowed to pass, Natividad clinging to his sleeve.

The subaltern in command at the guard-room took the Marquis’ card, and a moment later they were ushered upstairs. There were soldiers everywhere, some of them fast asleep on the staircase, their guns between their knees, so that the visitors had to pick their way upstairs over prostrate bodies.

Finally, their guide pushed open a door and ushered them into a Redroom, where Garcia was presiding over a meeting of the Cabinet he had appointed the previous day. Some of these high functionaries were seated on the Dictator’s Red, others on the table, and one on a bundle of soiled linen.

They were received more than courteously. Garcia, who was in his shirt-sleeves, and shaving, ran toward the Marquis with both hands outstretched, scattering white flakes from his shaving-brush as he came.

“Forgive me, se?or,” he said. “Antique simplicity! Antique simplicity!... I receive you as I would a friend... for I trust you come as a friend, as a friend of the new Government. Let me introduce you.”

He began with the Minister of War, who was astride the bolster, and finished up with the Minister for Posts and Telegraphs, a hideous half-breed chewing cocoa-nut leaves.

“No fuss, you see,” babbled on Garcia. “Antique simplicity. Cato, and all that sort of thing.... Nothing like antiquity, sir, to make men.... The good padres taught us that, and I took the lesson to heart.” He laughed. “All that show is for outside... the crowds like it. You must amuse the crowd!... Did you see my review? Splendid, wasn’t it?... Magnificent soldiers.... And the rain., Did you see what I did? Effective, eh?”

Daring all this verbiage............