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Updated: May 28, 2025
Among the shreds of fragmentary information which Manuel had previously stored away in his memory was the fact that one José Reebeler was a capitalist. This was not exclusive information. Every guide and casual acquaintance hastened to sing for the newcomer the saga of Reebeler's importance.
When Reebeler's eyes came up questioningly to his own, he, too, was looking off through the raised window where the limp curtain barely trembled in the light breeze. "The ring is interesting," suggested the Consul. "The arms seem to be those of a family of Galavia which is connected with Royalty. Did you pick it up in a curio shop? If so, some servant must have stolen it." Blanco stood up.
He struck match after match and melted pellet after pellet of wax, then absently he took from his pocket a gold seal-ring and made, with its shield, several impressions on the wax. Reebeler's eyes were half-closed as he gazed vacantly at the pigeons cooing and strutting in his courtyard. "See, I have at last got a good impression."
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