Cueto's dark eyes gleamed resentfully at this show of ignorance,
but he laughed.
"Ho! There's a careful fellow for you! No wonder he trusts you.
But do you think I have neither eyes nor ears? My good Sebastian,
you know all about that treasure; in fact, you know far more about
many things than Don Esteban would care to have you tell. Come
now, don't you?"
Sebastian's face was like a mask carved from ebony. "Of what does
this treasure consist?" he inquired. "I have never heard about
it."
"Of gold, of jewels, of silver bars and precious ornaments."
Cueto's head was thrust forward, his nostrils were dilated, his
teeth gleamed. "Oh, it is somewhere about, as you very well know!
Bah! Don't deny it. I'm no fool. What becomes of the money from
the slave girls, eh? And the sugar crops, too? Does it go to buy
arms and ammunition for the rebels? No. Don Esteban hides it, and
you help him. Come," he cried, disregarding Sebastian's murmurs of
protest, "did you ever think how fabulous that fortune must be by
this time? Did you ever think that one little gem, one bag of
gold, would buy your freedom?"
"Don Esteban has promised to buy my freedom and the freedom of my
girl."
"So?" The manager was plainly surprised. "I didn't know that."
After a moment he began to laugh. "And yet you pretend to know
nothing about that treasure? Ha! You're a good boy, Sebastian, and
so I am.
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