“Oh, my God, my God. But don’t you know if he is dead or alive?” “No, Olivia,” said Margaret. “Charles was landing to find him when the Spaniards attacked,” said Perrin. “He was wounded. They wounded him, Olivia.” “You left him, alone, Charles. Alone. To be killed.” “We’ll bring him back, Olivia. We can win him back.” “Oh, but he may be killed. He may be killed. He may be dead now.” “Beg pardon, ma’am,” said Cammock. “We think he’s gone over to the Spaniards, with my book of charts as Basil draw.” “You think he’s left, left us. You think, Charles. Do tell me. Tell me.” “They think he’s gone into the city, Olivia,” Margaret said, “to tell the Spaniards of our plans. Into the city, Olivia. We saw him go into the city a long time before. They think he caused the attack on us. In the water. It was like a bad dream. Don’t. Don’t. I’ll bring him back, Olivia. We’ll bring him back to-morrow.” “I’m quite calm, Charles,” said Olivia in a shaking voice. “I’m quite calm. Look at my hand here. You see.” “Sit down, Olivia,” Margaret said. “There. In this chair. I want to say this. He went into the city walking with the captain of the garrison. The negro had his stirrup in his toes. They were to dine with the Governor. They were friends. He told me himself. Your husband told me they were friends. After the siesta they ambushed us. Oh, my God. They offered a hostage even. And your husband advised me to refuse it.” “And you think,” Olivia said, “that Tom, my husband----” She paused. Then gave way to the running gamut of shaking sobs, her head on the table. “Oh, Tom, Tom, come back to me. Come back to me.” “It was after he had dined with the Governor that they ambushed us,” Margaret repeated. “And I saw Cammock’s map-book in his pocket.” “But he’d no thought of it,” she cried. “Only this morning. Only this morning. It was so sweet. Oh, he’d no thought of it this morning. None. You know he had none.” “Of course, no one knows,” said Perrin. “He may be only a prisoner.” “They never kill prisoners,” said Cammock. “Be easy as to that.” “And he’s left me,” she sobbed. “Oh, but I know he loves me. It’s not that. I know he does. I know he does. Oh, Charles. What makes you think. I’m quite calm again. I can bear it all. I’m calm. What makes you think that he’s gone?” “One or two things he asked. He was asking about life with the Spaniards. And his manner.” “Charles, did you suspect him? Did you expect this when you chose him? Chose him yesterday?” Margaret sat down at the table, looking at her stupidly, his face all drawn. “Charles, you didn’t suspect him? You thought of this.”