“I think I have,” said Kit.  “After all, a gold onza is not a great temptation.  I found another—­a spray of heliotrope—­harder to resist.”

“But you did resist!” she replied in a quiet voice.

“Yes,” said Kit, fixing his eyes on her face.  “I am an adventurer like the rest, but it is rather a shabby thing to try to gain an advantage in a battle with a woman.  Besides, as I’m not clever, I might have failed.”

With a languid movement of her head Francisca looked round and Kit imagined she saw the others were too far off to hear.  Then she made him a half mocking bow.

“We need not quarrel, senor, and I will give you a hint.  Since you are incorruptible, this town is not the place for you.  Strangers from the North sometimes get fever.  And I would not like you to suffer because you are honest, and have chosen the losing side.”

“Ah,” said Kit, “you think our side will lose?”

Francisca moved her fan, as if to indicate Galdar, who stood in the moonlight near the fountain.  He was smiling urbanely and a number of men and women had gathered about him.  Kit knew they were people of importance.  At the end of the patio, the president stood alone in the advancing gloom.

“You see!” she said.  “Well, I am engaged for the next dance.  You have my leave to go.”

Kit left her and sat down in a quiet spot.  On the whole, he thought the president’s antagonists had been foolish when they tried to use the girl; she was, so to speak, too good, and perhaps too proud, for the part they expected her to play.  This, however, was not important; he imagined she had meant well when she gave him a hint, although the hint was not worth much, because Kit thought Adam saw how things were going.  Then he reflected with some amusement that he need not bother much about deceiving the enemy, since Galdar’s friends would not suspect that Buccaneer Askew had knowingly chosen the losing side.

Presently Kit joined Adam, who sat near a lamp.  His face was damp and looked pinched.

“Let’s go and get a drink,” he said.  “I’m thirsty; got a dose of intermittent fever again.”

Some tables behind the pillars were laid out with wine and fruit, and Adam beckoned a mulatto waiter.

“Tinto and siphon.  Bring some ice.”

“There is no siphon, senor.  We have sherry, vermouth, and some very good anisado.”

“You have plenty siphon” Adam declared.  “Go and look.”

The waiter went away and Adam frowned.  “I can’t stand for their scented liquors; I want a long, cool drink.”

After a few minutes, the waiter came back with a large glass, in which a lump of ice floated in red wine and mineral water.  Adam, sending him away, remarked:  “That’s a stupid fellow.  I wanted to mix the stuff myself.”

He drank thirstily and put down the glass.

“Tastes bitter; too much resin in the wine, or perhaps it’s imagination.”  He lifted the glass but stopped and threw the rest of the liquor on the pavement.  “Reckon I’ve had enough.  About the meanest drink I’ve struck.  Give me a cigar.  The taste stops in my mouth.”