Francisco Alvarez moved his chair, and a look of relief came over his face.  The opening promised well.  The expressions of Henry Ware and Oliver Pollock did not change, and Bernardo Galvez continued: 

“I could not hold an officer of Spain, one high in the service, upon such charges, when they were without sufficient support, and hence, as these five men and boys had committed acts of violence upon Spanish soil and against Spanish subjects, I sent them to a military prison, pending further disclosures if there should be any, and I have held Don Francisco Alvarez in New Orleans in order that he might clear his good name of these charges and of certain talk that has been afloat concerning him.”

Alvarez stirred again and his expression changed slightly.  The continuation was not quite as good as the beginning.  Did he not detect a slight undertone of irony or satire in the voice of Bernardo Galvez?  But neither Henry Ware nor Oliver Pollock moved a particle.  The four looked curiously from one to another of the actors in this tense scene.

“It was my object,” resumed Bernardo Galvez, and now his tone had a curious hard quality like steel, “to find the truth.  Only in that way could justice be done.  Now I have to say that proof of these charges, not conclusive, but incriminating nevertheless, has been found, and is in my possession.”

Alvarez leaped from his chair.  He felt as if he had received a blow of a hammer on his temple, but he cried out: 

“It is not true! there can be no such proof!”

“It is true,” said Bernardo Galvez sternly and accusingly, “because I hold this evidence here in my hand.  The war-maps which you are charged with having, drawn by the one Wyatt, the friend of the Indians, and annotated in your hand, are here.”

He opened his palm and laid the strips of deerskin upon the table.  Alvarez staggered back and looked savagely at Braxton Wyatt.

“It is true,” stammered the renegade in a whisper.  “I was set upon last night by Ware!  He took me by surprise and robbed me of them!  I could not help it, but I was afraid to tell you then.”

“I knew that Henry would find a way!  I knew it!” Paul was murmuring to himself.

“What of these maps, Don Francisco Alvarez?” said the Governor General.

The bold and flexible Spaniard quickly recovered himself.

“Maps do not mean anything,” he said.  “Any military officer provides himself with them whenever he can.  He need not he at war with a country to secure them.”

“No, not in the case of ordinary maps, but here we have plans for an attack upon the settlements in Kaintock.  I find noted by the side of one station in your handwriting:  ‘Could be destroyed easily with two cannon.’  It is obvious that you have exceeded your authority.  How much further you have gone is to be seen.”

“Your Excellency, I protest against”—­began Alvarez, but at that moment the door was opened and Lieutenant Diego Bernal appeared upon the threshold.