“Rather late to think of that, isn’t it?” asked McGregor, with a sneer.  “A revolution won’t run on high moral wheels.”

“Think how he jockeyed you about the money,” said I, assuming the part of the tempter.

“By the way,” said McGregor, “it’s understood the signorina enters into possession of the President’s country villa, isn’t it?”

Now, my poor signorina had a longing for that choice little retreat; and between resentment for her lost money and a desire for the pretty house on the one hand, and, on the other, her dislike of the Delilah-like part she was to play, she was sore beset.  Left to herself, I believe she would have yielded to her better feelings, and spoiled the plot.  As it was, the colonel and I, alarmed at this recrudescence of conscience, managed to stifle its promptings, and bent her to our wicked will.

“After all, he deserves it,” she said, “and I’ll do it!”

It is always sad to see anybody suffering from a loss of self-respect, so I tried to restore the signorina’s confidence in her own motives, by references to Jael the wife of Heber the Kenite, Charlotte Corday, and such other relentless heroines as occurred to me.  McGregor looked upon this striving after self-justification with undisguised contempt.

“It’s only making a fool of him again,” he said; “you’ve done it before, you know!”

“I’ll do it, if you’ll swear not to—­to hurt him,” she said.

“I’ve promised already,” he replied sullenly.  “I won’t touch him, unless he brings it on himself.  If he tries to kill me, I suppose I needn’t bare my breast to the blow?”

“No, no,” I interposed; “I have a regard for his Excellency, but we must not let our feelings betray us into weakness.  He must be taken—­alive and well, if possible—­but in the last resort, dead or alive.”

“Come, that’s more like sense,” said the colonel approvingly.

The signorina sighed, but opposed us no longer.

Returning to ways and means, we arranged for communication in case of need during the next three days without the necessity of meeting.  My position, as the center of financial business in Whittingham, made this easy; the passage of bank messengers to and fro would excite little remark, and the messages could easily be so expressed as to reveal nothing to an uninstructed eye.  It was further agreed that on the smallest hint of danger reaching any one of us, the word should at once be passed to the others, and we should rendezvous at the colonel’s “ranch,” which lay some seven miles from the town.  Thence, in this lamentable case, escape would be more possible.

“And now,” said the colonel, “if Martin will hand over the dollars, I think that’s about all.”

I had brought the ten thousand dollars with me.  I produced them and put them on the table, keeping a loving hand on them.

“You fully understand my position, colonel?” I said.  “This thing is no use to me unless I receive at least three hundred and twenty thousand dollars, to pay back principal, to meet interest, and to replace another small debt to the bank.  If I do that, I shall be left with a net profit of five thousand dollars, not an extravagant reward.  If I don’t get that sum I shall be a defaulter, revolution or no revolution.”