Next, I sent Burroughs to Miralda to tell her to find some means of preventing Vasco from taking any part in the night’s work. If necessary Burroughs was to frighten her into compliance, but not to say what was actually on foot. If no other way could be found, Miralda was to drug Vasco. But by fair means or foul, he must be prevented from leaving the house, or his life would be in danger. This was essential in view of the line I meant to take with Volheno and the authorities in the event of success. CHAPTER XXII READY I was busy with the final touches to my shooting rig when Burroughs returned bringing Miralda’s promise to do what I asked. “She is going to stop him somehow, Ralph. I think she’ll drug him if he gives any trouble. He was evidently gloriously drunk last night and he turned up this morning--his friends of the _Rampallo_ took him back--and is all to pieces, she told me. He had already let out enough to scare her out of her senses almost, and she jumped at the chance of saving him from trouble.” “Did she want to know things?” “Well, what do you think? She has a way with her, too; and I was glad to get out of fire of her eyes--or she’d have had the whole business out of me.” “Any message for me?” I asked casually. “No, nothing particular, of course,” he replied in the same tone, with a grin. “I don’t wonder you’re willing to do things now. Hanged if I wouldn’t be. She wanted to know that you weren’t running any risks; but she didn’t seem to fancy that a rough sort of sea-dog like me was the sort of message carrier she ought to choose, so she made a postman of me;” and he put down a letter and went out of the room saying he wanted to tell Simmons something. It was the first letter I had ever received from Miralda, and I did what I suppose nine out of ten mooncalves would have done. I just sat staring at the envelope for a while, as if it were an amulet with a thousand mystic virtues, and looking round to make sure I was alone, I kissed it--yes, and more than once, before I thought of such a commonplace thing as opening it. It was very simply worded. “I will of course do what you ask; and I think I am half disappointed you have asked so little of me--a something to help others, not you yourself. Your friend’s manner shows me that he at any rate recognizes the dangers of the task you are attempting, whatever that may be. I know it would be useless to try and dissuade you from it; and I suppose I cannot help you. But I can pray for you. With all my heart and soul I do. God keep you safe and unharmed, and give you success. “MIRALDA.” It is difficult even to suggest how this letter moved me.