At this question Captain Mitchell's sinking spirits revived. In whatever incomprehensible manner Sotillo had already got his information about the lighter, he had not captured it. That was clear. In his outraged heart, Captain Mitchell had resolved that nothing would induce him to say a word while he remained so disgracefully bound, but his desire to help the escape of the silver made him depart from this resolution. His wits were very much at work. He detected in Sotillo a certain air of doubt, of irresolution.
`That man,' he said to himself, `is not certain of what he advances.'
For all his pomposity in social intercourse, Captain Mitchell could meet the realities of life in a resolute and ready spirit. Now he had got over the first shock of the abominable treatment he was cool and collected enough.
The immense contempt he felt for Sotillo steadied him, and he said oracularly, `No doubt it is well concealed by this time.'
Sotillo, too, had time to cool down. ` Muy bien , Mitchell,' he said in a cold and threatening manner. `But can you produce the Government receipt for the royalty and the Custom House permit of embarkation, hey?
Can you? No. Then the silver has been removed illegally, and the guilty shall be made to suffer, unless it is produced within five days from this.'
He gave orders for the prisoner to be unbound and locked up in one of the smaller rooms downstairs. He walked about the room, moody and silent, till Captain Mitchell, with each of his arms held by a couple of men, stood up, shook himself, and stamped his feet.
`How did you like to be tied up, Mitchell?' he asked, derisively.
`It is the most incredible, abominable use of power!' Captain Mitchell declared in a loud voice. `And whatever your purpose, you shall gain nothing from it, I can promise you.'
The tall colonel, livid, with his coal-black ringlets and moustache, crouched, as it were, to look into the eyes of the short, thick-set, red-faced prisoner with rumpled white hair.
`That we shall see. You shall know my power a little better when I tie you up to a potalon outside in the sun for a whole day.' He drew himself up haughtily, and made a sign for Captain Mitchell to be led away.
`What about my watch?' cried Captain Mitchell, hanging back from the efforts of the men pulling him towards the door.
Sotillo turned to his officers. `No! But only listen to this picaro, caballeros ,' he pronounced with affected scorn, and was answered by a chorus of derisive laughter. `He demands his watch!' . . . He ran up again to Captain Mitchell, for the desire to relieve his feelings by inflicting blows and pain upon this Englishman was very strong within him. `Your watch!
You are a prisoner in war time, Mitchell! In war time! You have no rights and no property! Caramba ! The very breath in your body belongs to me. Remember that.'
`Bosh!' said Captain Mitchell, concealing a disagreeable impression.
Down below, in a great hall, with the earthen floor and with a tall mound thrown up by white ants in a corner, the soldiers had kindled a small fire with broken chairs and tables near the arched gateway, through which the faint murmur of the harbour waters on the beach could be heard. While Captain Mitchell was being led down the staircase, an officer passed him, running up to report to Sotillo the capture of more prisoners. A lot of smoke hung about in the vast gloomy place, the fire crackled, and, as if through a haze, Captain Mitchell made out, surrounded by short soldiers with fixed bayonets, the heads of three tall prisoners -- the doctor, the engineer-in-chief, and the white leonine mane of old Viola, who stood half-turned away from the others with his chin on his breast and his arms crossed.
Mitchell's astonishment knew no bounds. He cried out; the other two exclaimed also. But he hurried on, diagonally, across the big cavern-like hall. Lots of thoughts, surmises, hints of caution, and so on, crowded his head to distraction.
`Is he actually keeping you?' shouted the chief engineer, whose single eyeglass glittered in the firelight.
An officer from the top of the stairs was shouting urgently, `Bring them all up -- all three.'
In the clamour of voices and the rattle of arms, Captain Mitchell made himself heard imperfectly: `By heavens! the fellow has stolen my watch.'
The engineer-in-chief on the staircase resisted the pressure long enough to shout, `What? What did you say?'
`My chronometer!' Captain Mitchell yelled violently at the very moment of being thrust head foremost through a small door into a sort of cell, perfectly black, and so narrow that he fetched up against the opposite wall. The door had been instantly slammed. He knew where they had put him.
This was the strong-room of the Custom House, whence the silver had been removed only a few hours earlier. It was almost as narrow as a corridor, with a small square aperture, barred by a heavy grating, at the distant end. Captain Mitchell staggered for a few steps, then sat down on the earthen floor with his back to the wall. Nothing, not even a gleam of light from anywhere, interfered with Captain Mitchell's meditation. He did some hard but not very extensive thinking. It was not of a gloomy cast. The old sailor, with all his small weaknesses and absurdities, was constitutionally incapable of entertaining for any length of time a fear of his personal safety. It was not so much firmness of soul as the lack of a certain kind of imagination -- the kind whose undue development caused intense suffering to Senor Hirsch;that sort of imagination which adds the blind terror of bodily suffering and of death, envisaged as an accident to the body alone, strictly -- to all the other apprehensions on which the sense of one's existence is based.
Unfortunately, Captain Mitchell had not much penetration of any kind; characteristic, illuminating trifles of expression, action, or movement, escaped him completely.
