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 "And Sotillo brought him in," said the doctor. "He is no more startling to you than you were to me. What I want to know is how he induced some compassionate soul to shoot him."

"So Sotillo knows—" began Nostromo, in a more equable voice.

"Everything!" interrupted the doctor.

The capataz was heard striking the table with his fist. "Everything? What are you saying, there? Everything? Knows everything? It is impossible! Everything?"

"Of course. What do you mean by impossible? I tell you I have heard this Hirsch questioned last night, here, in this very room. He knew your name, Decoud's name, and all about the loading of the silver. . . . The lighter was cut in two. He was grovelling in abject terror before Sotillo, but he remembered that much. What do you want more? He knew least about himself. They found him clinging to their anchor. He must have caught at it just as the lighter went to the bottom."

"Went to the bottom?" repeated Nostromo, slowly. "Sotillo believes that? Bueno!"

The doctor, a little impatiently, was unable to imagine what else could anybody believe. Yes, Sotillo believed that the lighter was sunk, and the capataz of the cargadores, together with Martin Decoud and perhaps one or two other political fugitives, had been drowned.

"I told you well, Señor Doctor," remarked Nostromo, at that piont, "that Sotillo did not know everything."

"Eh? What do you mean?"