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Updated: May 26, 2025
He came forward and slapped Roland on the shoulder. And then the remarkable fact came to light that Bombito spoke English, or a sort of English. "My old chap," he said. "I would have a speech with you." He slapped Roland again on the shoulder. "The others they say, 'Break it with Senor Bleke gently. Maraquita say 'Break it with Senor Bleke gently. So I break it with you gently."
It appeared, however, that Maraquita did not want to avoid bloodshed, that she rather liked bloodshed, that the leaders of the revolution would be disappointed if there were no bloodshed. Especially Bombito. Unless, she pointed out, there was a certain amount of carnage, looting, and so on, the revolution would not achieve a popular success.
Roland was too polite to inquire what on earth the Infamy of 1905 might be, but its mention had a marked effect on the company. Some scowled, others uttered deep-throated oaths. Bombito did both. Before supper, to which they presently sat down, was over, however, Roland knew a good deal about Paranoya and its history.
Suppose he did beware to the extent of withdrawing his support from the royalist movement, what then? Bombito. If ever there was a toad under the harrow, he was that toad. And all because a perfectly respectful admiration for the caoutchouc had led him to occupy a stage-box several nights in succession at the theater where the peerless Maraquita tied herself into knots.
He dealt Roland a third stupendous punch. Whatever was to be broken gently, it was plain to Roland that it was not himself. And suddenly there came to him a sort of intuition that told him that Bombito was nervous. "After all you have done for us, Senor Bleke, we shall seem to you ungrateful bounders, but what is it? Yes? No? I shouldn't wonder, perhaps.
On the third, with something of the instinct which draws the murderer to the spot where he has buried the body, he called at her house. She was not present, but otherwise there was a full gathering. There were the marquises; there were the counts; there was Bombito. He looked unhappily round the crowd. Somebody gave him a glass of champagne. He raised it.
But, if the others once had cause to suspect that your resolve was failing ah! If Bombito " Roland took her point. He had forgotten Bombito for the moment. "For goodness' sake," he said hastily, "don't go saying anything to Bombito to give him the idea that I'm trying to back out. Of course you can rely on me, and all that. That's all right." Maraquita's gaze softened.
He had an instinctive feeling that he was about to be called upon for a subscription to the cause of the distressful country's freedom. Especially by Bombito. He was right. A moment later Maraquita began to make a speech. She spoke in Paranoyan, and Roland could not follow her, but he gathered that it somehow had reference to himself.
The exception Maraquita addressed as Bombito. He was a conspicuous figure. He was one of those out-size, hasty-looking men. One suspected him of carrying lethal weapons. Maraquita presented Roland to the company. The native speech of Paranoya sounded like shorthand, with a blend of Spanish. An expert could evidently squeeze a good deal of it into a minute. Its effect on the company was good.
They were manifestly soothed. Even Bombito. Introductions in detail then took place. This time, for Roland's benefit, Maraquita spoke in English, and he learned that most of those present were marquises. Before him, so he gathered from Maraquita, stood the very flower of Paranoya's aristocracy, driven from their native land by the Infamy of 1905.
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