PART THIRD: THE LIGHTHOUSE
2. CHAPTER TWO
 (continued)
Sotillo had taken up his quarters on the upper floor in a vast
 
apartment with heavy black beams. But there was no ceiling, and
 
the eye lost itself in the darkness under the high pitch of the
 
roof. The thick shutters stood open. On a long table could be
 
seen a large inkstand, some stumpy, inky quill pens, and two
 
square wooden boxes, each holding half a hundred-weight of sand.
 
Sheets of grey coarse official paper bestrewed the floor. It must
 
have been a room occupied by some higher official of the Customs,
 
because a large leathern armchair stood behind the table, with
 
other high-backed chairs scattered about. A net hammock was swung
 
under one of the beams--for the official's afternoon siesta, no
 
doubt. A couple of candles stuck into tall iron candlesticks gave
 
a dim reddish light. The colonel's hat, sword, and revolver lay
 
between them, and a couple of his more trusty officers lounged
 
gloomily against the table. The colonel threw himself into the
 
armchair, and a big negro with a sergeant's stripes on his ragged
 
sleeve, kneeling down, pulled off his boots. Sotillo's ebony
 
moustache contrasted violently with the livid colouring of his
 
cheeks. His eyes were sombre and as if sunk very far into his
 
head. He seemed exhausted by his perplexities, languid with
 
disappointment; but when the sentry on the landing thrust his
 
head in to announce the arrival of a prisoner, he revived at
 
once. 
 
"Let him be brought in," he shouted, fiercely. 
 
The door flew open, and Captain Mitchell, bareheaded, his
 
waistcoat open, the bow of his tie under his ear, was hustled
 
into the room. 
 
Sotillo recognized him at once. He could not have hoped for a
 
more precious capture; here was a man who could tell him, if he
 
chose, everything he wished to know--and directly the problem of
 
how best to make him talk to the point presented itself to his
 
mind. The resentment of a foreign nation had no terrors for
 
Sotillo.  The might of the whole armed Europe would not have
 
protected Captain Mitchell from insults and ill-usage, so well as
 
the quick reflection of Sotillo that this was an Englishman who
 
would most likely turn obstinate under bad treatment, and become
 
quite unmanageable. At all events, the colonel smoothed the scowl
 
on his brow. 
 
 |