of discretion. But he did not say that. He
pointed out to the doctor that it would have been bad policy.
Directly Don Pepe let it be supposed that he could be bought over, the
Administrador's personal safety and the safety of his friends would
become endangered. For there would be then no reason for moderation. The
incorruptibility of Don Pepe was the essential and restraining fact. The
doctor hung his head and admitted that in a way it was so.

He couldn't deny to himself that the reasoning was sound enough. Don
Pepe's usefulness consisted in his unstained character. As to his own
usefulness, he reflected bitterly it was also his own character. He
declared to Charles Gould that he had the means of keeping Sotillo from
joining his forces with Montero, at least for the present.

"If you had had all this silver here," the doctor said, "or even if it
had been known to be at the mine, you could have bribed Sotillo to throw
off his recent Monterism. You could have induced him either to go away
in his steamer or even to join you."

"Certainly not that last," Charles Gould declared, firmly. "What could
one do with a man like that, afterwards--tell me, doctor? The silver is
gone, and I am glad of it. It would have been an immediate and
strong temptation. The scramble for that visible plunder would have
precipitated a disastrous ending. I would have had to defend it, too.
I am glad we've removed it--even if it is lost. It would have been a
danger and a curse."

"Perhaps he is right," the doctor, an hour later, said hurriedly to Mrs.
Gould, whom he met in the corridor. "The thing is done, and the shadow
of the treasure may do just as well as the substance. Let me try to
serve you to the whole extent of my evil reputation. I am off now to
play my game of betrayal with Sotillo, and keep him off the town."

She put out both her hands impulsively. "Dr. Monygham, you are running a
terrible risk," she whispered, averting from his face her eyes, full of
tears, for a short glance at the door of her husband's room. She pressed
both his hands, and the doctor stood as if rooted to the spot, looking
down at her, and trying to twist his lips into a smile.

"Oh, I know you will defend my memory," he uttered at last, and ran
tottering down the stairs across the patio, and out of the house. In the
street he kept up a great pace with his smart hobbling walk, a case
of instruments under his arm. He was known for being loco. Nobody
interfered