“The master of Peru,” repeated the Marquis, “whose motto is ‘Liberty for all.’ I want him to restore to me my two children, who have been stolen.”
“Stolen! What do you mean, señor? Those who have done this thing shall be punished. I swear it by my ancestor, Pedro de la Vega, who gave his life for the True Faith, and was killed by the infidels in the year of grace 1537 at the Battle of Xauxa, in which he received seventeen wounds while fighting at the side of the illustrious Christobal de la Torre!”
The Marquis had always said that Garcia was in no way descended from Pedro de la Vega, and Garcia knew it.
“Those same infidels have now carried off my daughter, Excellency.”
“The beautiful señorita! But what do you mean by infidels? What infidels?”
“She has been kidnaped from Callao by the Quichuas... as a sacrifice to their gods during the Interaymi.”
“Sacrifice!... Interaymi... but that cannot be, señor.”
“I am sure of what I say, Excellency, and she has certainly been carried off. Let me introduce señor Perez, the inspector superior of the police of Callao. Like myself, he is devoted to your cause. He will tell you the same thing. Speak, Natividad.”
Horrified at the form of the Marquis’ introduction, Natividad stammered a corroboration. If Garcia did not win now, all that was left for him to do was to cross the Bolivian frontier.
The change in Garcia’s manner was immediate. He did not want trouble with the Quichuas, his partisans and allies.
“But I can do nothing for you, señor. All this happened in Callao. Veintemilla is still master there, and you must go to him.”
“They are now in this very city, imprisoned in a house which is guarded by your own troops.”
“That is not possible. I should have known it. But if by some extraordinary fact this is so, you have not done wrong in coming to me.”
“I knew I would not appeal to you in vain. As long as I live, I shall not forget this service. I have friends in Lima, señor! And this gentleman also,” he pointed to Natividad. “The police of Callao is yours.... Only accompany us to the gates of the city, and set my children free, and my life and my fortune are yours.”
“I am afraid I cannot come myself, for I am expecting the British Consul. But I will send my Minister for War with you. You will find him just as useful.” Garcia turned and whistled for the dignitary in question, who seemed in no hurry to move. “Go and see what is happening,” he ordered, “and let me know.... I believe you are in error, gentlemen, but I will do what I can for you.”