ended. Placido was surprised to see the rich jeweler
move through such places as if he were familiar with them. They at
length reached an open lot where a wretched hut stood off by itself
surrounded by banana-plants and areca-palms. Some bamboo frames and
sections of the same material led Placido to suspect that they were
approaching the house of a pyrotechnist.

Simoun rapped on the window and a man's face appeared.

"Ah, sir!" he exclaimed, and immediately came outside.

"Is the powder here?" asked Simoun.

"In sacks. I'm waiting for the shells."

"And the bombs?"

"Are all ready."

"All right, then. This very night you must go and inform the lieutenant
and the corporal. Then keep on your way, and in Lamayan you will find a
man in a banka. You will say _Cabesa_ and he will answer _Tales_. It's
necessary that he be here tomorrow. There's no time to be lost."

Saying this, he gave him some gold coins.

"How's this, sir?" the man inquired in very good Spanish. "Is there
any news?"

"Yes, it'll be done within the coming week."

"The coming week!" exclaimed the unknown, stepping backward. "The
suburbs are not yet ready, they hope that the General will withdraw
the decree. I thought it was postponed until the beginning of Lent."

Simoun shook his head. "We won't need the suburbs," he said. "With
Cabesang Tales' people, the ex-carbineers, and a regiment, we'll have
enough. Later, Maria Clara may be dead. Start at once!"

The man disappeared. Placido, who had stood by and heard all of this
brief interview, felt his hair rise and stared with startled eyes at
Simoun, who smiled.

"You're surprised," he said with his icy smile, "that this Indian,
so poorly dressed, speaks Spanish well? He was a schoolmaster who
persisted in teaching Spanish to the children and did not stop until
he had lost his position and had been deported as a disturber of
the public peace, and for having been a friend of the unfortunate
Ibarra. I got him back from his deportation, where he had been working
as a pruner of coconut-palms, and have made him a pyrotechnist."

They returned to the street and set out for Trozo. Before a wooden
house of pleasant and well-kept appearance was a Spaniard on crutches,
enjoying the moonlight. When Simoun accosted him, his attempt to rise
was accompanied by a stifled groan.

"You're ready?" Simoun inquired of him.

"I always am!"

"The coming week?"

"So soon?"

"At the first cannon-shot!"

He