She had a sudden wild desire to tell Jimmy all she wished to do to help him. How she too wanted to work for the people of Mariposa, to spend her money on something worth while, to set up welfare organisations, to sweep away those insanitary slums, to build new houses, new hospitals, new schools, and many other things that Mariposa needed so badly.

The car wound its way up the narrow street with its overhanging balconies, where Alejo had tried to murder his enemy and had failed.

The sun had set, but there was still a luminous glow in the sky and against it, shining like some brilliant glittering jewel, was the Palace with the courtyard floodlit and lights shining in all its windows.

Great crowds of people hung round the open gates and then, as they stepped from the car, Skye saw that the courtyard too was filled with them – people of every type, well-to-do shopkeepers, beggars, negroes, gauchos, peasants and barefoot children.

There was a very narrow passageway through which the arriving guests could pass and, as they moved slowly, climbing the wide marble steps, Skye saw with astonishment that no one was passing through the great open doors at the top.

All were waiting – Diplomats with their shining decorations, women in evening dress, Officers in uniform and innumerable civic dignitaries wearing their chains of office.

“What is happening?” Skye asked Jimmy, but before he could reply, El Diablo came out of the Palace.

A great shout went up from the crowd at the sight of him and Skye, who had wondered vaguely what he would wear at this, his first reception as President of Mariposa, saw that he was dressed as a gaucho.

It was a gesture that was appreciated by the crowd, for they cheered full-throatedly, their voices ringing out wildly into the darkness of the sky.

Only El Diablo would have thought of anything so clever, Skye thought proudly. And the raven black suit with its short tight-fitting coat and wide bombachas became him as nothing else could have done. He wore shining black boots with huge silver spurs and the traditional six-inch-wide leather belt holding a cuchillo and a revolver.

In the floodlighting it was easy to see the great jagged gash, blood-red against the whiteness of his forehead, from Alejo’s bullet.

And as he stood there waiting – tall, commanding and absolutely sure of himself, Skye knew indeed that he was the man whom Mariposa had wanted for for so long, the one man who could lead the country to greatness.

At last the cheering subsided a little and then, as El Diablo started to speak through a microphone, there was a sudden hush over the great throng.