“At dusk we will pass by the inn. I will knock. And you shall say to them: ‘Here is the chief of the Civil Guard; hide your arms.’ They will hide them, and we will arrest them.”
“Shall I get something for doing this favour?” asked Moro.
“Naturally.”
“What will they give me?”
“You will see.”
The ruse worked as they had plotted it; Moro played the comedy to perfection.
On learning that the chief of the Civil Guard wanted to come in, the revolutionists, on the landlord’s advice, left their arms in the next room. At the same instant the window panes burst to bits and the soldiers of the Civil Guard fired three charges from close up. Two women and four men fell dead; the wounded, among whom was “Limpy,” were taken to the hospital, and only one person was lucky enough to escape.
FATE
At the chief headquarters of Moncada’s followers, a strange phenomenon was noticed; on the preceding days they had been chock full; that night there were not over ten or a dozen men from the Workmen’s Club collected by a table lighted by a petroleum lamp. The pharmacist, Camacho, presided.