Clete had last seen it hanging in his father's private library at Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo.
I wonder why he brought it here?
Well, it means he came here when I was in the States, which suggests that goddamned letter may be here-or was here-after all.
He found a match, and was in the slow process of correctly lighting the cigar when the door opened.
It was Enrico, in a Husares uniform.
The bandage on his head is leaking blood. Christ only knows what he looks like under that Student Prince Graustarkian uniform jacket.
"Mi Teniente..."
"I asked you not to call me that," Clete snapped.
"Se¤or Clete..."
"What in the name of God were you thinking riding a horse in your condi-tion?"
"I rode with your father in the cavalry all our lives, Se¤or Clete. It was my duty to ride with him tonight."
"And what are you going to do, for Christ's sake, when I die? Follow me to the cemetery in an airplane?"
Not only could Enrico not immediately counter the logic of that remark, but there was a chuckle of appreciation from a previously unseen spectator.
Clete raised his eyes from his still not fully and properly ignited cigar and saw a tall man in uniform. Not of the Husares. He didn't recognize anything about this one except the epaulets, which carried the insignia of a coronel.
Clete stood up.
"According to Enrico, you are quite a soldier yourself, Se¤or Frade. There-fore, you should know that arguing with a determined Suboficial Mayor is a waste of time and breath. One has the choice of giving in or having him shot."
"I'm tempted to do the latter," Clete said. "Or at least to chain him to his bed."
The tall colonel walked to him and put out his hand. "Perhaps levity is out of place," he said. "But on the other hand, I've heard that laughter often occurs spontaneously when pain is at the point of being unbearable."
"You have the advantage of me, mi Coronel," Clete said.
"Forgive me. But I have heard so much of you over the years, and tonight, from Enrico, that I feel I know you. Your father was my best friend, from our first day at the military academy. My name is Per¢n, Juan Domingo Per¢n."
"How do you do?"
"I have just, with great embarrassment, realized that I find myself an unin-vited guest in your home, Se¤or Frade."
"My father's best friend will always be my honored guest," Clete heard himself say.
Where the hell is this flowery language coming from? It just pops into my mouth. And not, I don't think, because I'm speaking Spanish, and not English. I have never been a charmer in either language.
He turned to Enrico.
"Take off your jacket and sit down," he ordered, pointing to a chair.
"Se¤or Clete?"
"You heard me," Clete said. He walked to the pull cord and jerked on it. When the housekeeper appeared a moment later, Enrico, with some difficulty, was still in the process of taking off his tunic.
She sucked in her breath when she saw Enrico's bloodstained undershirt.
"I'm going to need bandages, and tape, and cotton wool, and alcohol, or some other antiseptic," Clete said.