“Dr. Kreizler,” Señor Linares said in some surprise, when he saw that we all intended on staying in the parlor. “My business with you is of a private nature-it is certainly not for the ears of servants.”
“There are no servants here,” the Doctor replied. “These are my colleagues.”
The señor glanced at Cyrus. “The black, as well?”
Trying hard not to get openly irritated, the Doctor just said, “If you have something you wish to discuss, señor, you must do so in front of our collected company. Otherwise, I must bid you good evening.”
Shrugging, Señor Linares drained his brandy and put the glass aside. “I shall come to the point, then. I have reason to believe, Doctor, that you know the whereabouts of my wife and child.”
“Indeed?”
“Yes. If this is so, I most strongly recommend that you reveal those whereabouts to me, unless you wish to provoke a diplomatic incident.”
The Doctor paused and took out his cigarette case. “I had always understood that diplomats were tactful men,” he said. “Perhaps I was misinformed.”
“The time for tact is long past,” Señor Linares answered testily. “I know that, some time ago, my wife sought the assistance of this woman-” He waved his stick in Miss Howard’s general direction. “Since then, my life has been a succession of difficulties. I warn you, sir, I am most sincere in my threat of an official protest.”
As he lit one of his smokes, the Doctor studied the señor for a few more seconds, then sat back. “Actually, you are not.”
Señor Linares looked like he’d been slapped. “You call me a liar?” he demanded, getting to his feet.
“Please, sir,” the Doctor replied, waving his cigarette and not at all concerned. “Spare me your Latin pride-or what is the term that men such as yourself use? Your machismo? It is wasted here, I assure you.”
“Dr. Kreizler,” the señor answered, “I am not a man to endure such words-”
“Señor Linares,” the Doctor said, “please do sit down. I submit that if you had any intention of actually involving either your consulate or your government in this matter, you would have done so long ago. And you would certainly not have arrived at my house in the company of such creatures as those two men”-he threw a hand lightly in the direction of the window-“whose presence was undoubtedly intended to extract through physical intimidation the information you seek. Fortunately for myself-less fortunately for you-I did not return home alone. Shall we dispense, then, with talk of diplomatic incidents?”
The señor gave himself a couple of seconds, then sat back down and even managed a small, what you might call begrudging smile. “Yes. I heard that you were a clever man.”
The Doctor’s face suddenly went hard. “And I have heard that you, sir, are a man who does not shrink from beating women, as well as anyone else who might be smaller and weaker than yourself. And that you have been perfectly willing, anxious even, to conceal the abduction of your own child. So perhaps you can tell me, señor-why is it that you come here now, as if you were the governor of some far-off Spanish colony, in an attempt to bully me into giving you information that I do not possess?”
The señor looked up quickly. “Then you do not know what has become of my wife and daughter?”
“If I knew, sir, I should hardly be likely to tell you. But you have my word that I do not.” Which was true: Señora Linares had left New York over the weekend but hadn’t made her final destination known to Miss Howard before going. She planned to write when she was resettled and all was well.
Taking the Doctor’s statement, it seemed to me, more lightly than a man in his position might’ve been expected to, Señor Linares rested himself against his stick and said, “I see. So. It seems that I have wasted my time coming here.” Then he glanced up at Mr. Moore, almost like he was annoyed that he hadn’t been given another brandy yet.
Pouring it for him, Mr. Moore couldn’t help but get into the action: “Was it just because she was a girl? They don’t count for much in your part of the world, do they-female offspring?”
The señor shook his head. “You Americans-such provincial moralists. Do you imagine I would conduct myself as I have without compelling reasons?”
“What reasons,” Miss Howard asked, quietly but what you might call disdainfully, “could possibly be ‘compelling’ enough to make you abandon Ana?”
Glancing around the room at each of our faces, Señor Linares downed his second brandy, then began to nod his head slowly. “I suppose my motives must seem horrifying, to your rather naïve way of thinking.”
“We’re not sure what your motives are,” Marcus offered.
“We’ve been trying to determine that since the beginning,” Lucius added. “Without success.”
Still nodding as Mr. Moore poured him yet another shot of brandy, Señor Linares said, “I can understand the difficulty. You, like the rest of your countrymen, believe what is in your newspapers. The Spanish Empire is a decadent collection of arrogant militarists, who would like nothing better than to prove their virility against whatever nation offends them. Well…” He took a smaller sip of brandy. “You are right, in part-but only in part.” Indicating the Doctor’s silver cigarette box, the señor said, “May I?” to which the Doctor, now very interested in what the man was saying, nodded. The señor lit up one of the number inside the box, drew on it, and let the smoke out with a look of satisfaction. “Very fine,” he said. “Russian?”
The Doctor nodded again. “Georgian. Blended with Virginia.”
The señor took another drag. “Yes. Very fine indeed… Tell me, Doctor. Have you ever heard of a cousin of mine-General Arsenio Linares?” The Doctor shook his head. “He commands at Santiago de Cuba. Or of Admiral Pascual Cervera y Topete, commander of our naval squadron at Cádiz?” Again the Doctor came up blank. “I did not think so. But you know-you all know-of the ‘butcher’ General Weyler, and of the belligerent clique of monarchists and military officers that surround the queen regent… They are the men who are quoted in your newspapers. Your Mr. Hearst and Mr. Pulitzer-they will not sell their product by printing voices of reason.”
“Reason?” the Doctor asked, looking puzzled.
The señor gave him a tough, straight look. “You don’t really suppose, Doctor, that we are all so blind as to be unable to recognize the reality which surrounds us? Yes, there are many Spaniards in Cuba, and in Spain, and even in my boyhood home of the Philippines, who believe that your country has meddled in our affairs and insulted our leaders past the point of toleration. And they are right. But they wish to resolve the matter through war-they wish it almost as much as do many Americans. There are those in our country, however, who know what the inevitable result of such a war would be. The men I have mentioned, for example, know. And I know.”
“Would you mind telling us?” Mr. Moore said.
Señor Linares looked over at him and chuckled. “This country… it is like a youth who has suddenly grown into manhood, and does not yet realize the extent of his own strength. If Spain goes to war with your country, señor, the result will be disastrous for our empire. We will lose what little we still possess in this hemisphere, and probably a great deal more. But such arguments are lost on those who wish to defend our pride with arms. They pay no attention to the warnings of experienced officers like my cousin, or Admiral Cervera, who know how great our weakness is. Nor do they listen to mere consular secretaries, who have seen your great ships under construction in Brooklyn, in Newport, and in Virginia.” Staring into his glass, Señor Linares seemed to grow bitterly downcast. “They do not listen.”
The Doctor’s eyes had gone wide. “Are you saying,” he asked quietly, “that you deliberately tried to suppress knowledge of your daughter’s abduction in order to keep political extremists in your country from obtaining further rationalizations for declaring war on the United States?”