AT nightfall Quentin went out on the roof, stretched his spine along the ridge, and waited for Pacheco. The Cathedral clock was striking eight, when the bandit appeared, making his way toward the garret on all fours.

“Hey!” called Quentin.

“What is it? Is it you?”

“Yes.”

“Why are you waiting outside for me?”

“So we can talk without that woman hearing what we say. I have persuaded her to go home peaceably.”

“Very good. But listen, comrade; I’ve got a plan ready for something worth while.”

“I’m with you in everything. What have you thought of?”

“Of kidnapping La Aceitunera tonight.”

“But can it be done?”

“Absolutely. The Countess is going to the theatre. She will go in her carriage as usual, and if Cabra Periquito Gálvez doesn’t show up to accompany her, she will go home alone in her carriage. If Periquito does show up, and does go with her, we won’t do a thing; if she is alone, why, we’ll steal her away.”

“That’s all very well; but how?”

“First of all, I’ll see to it that the coachman gets[251] drunk so I can take his place; meanwhile, you go to the theatre, make sure that she is alone, then station yourself on the sidewalk opposite the lobby, and stay there quietly; if she comes out escorted, you light a match as if you were about to smoke—understand?”

“Where will you be then?”

“On the box. If the Countess is escorted, why, I’ll take her home, and we’ll leave the matter for another day. If she is alone, I’ll trot the horses as far as the Campo de la Merced, where I’ll stop; you get on—and away we go!”

“Very good. You’re a wonder, comrade! But let’s look coldly at the inconveniences.”

“Out with them.”

“First of all, the departure from this place. They are still hanging around the street, according to El Cuervo.”

“Ah, but do you think I am such an idiot as to go out through El Cuervo’s tavern? Ca, man!”

“No?”

“Of course not.”

“Well, where, then?”

“You’ll see.”

“Good. That solves the first problem: second, I have to go to the theatre to see if the Countess is alone, and people know me; if one of the police....”

“Nothing will happen. Take this ticket. Steal in when the performance has begun, and go upstairs, open one of the top boxes which are usually empty, and if the usher comes in, give him a peseta. He’s a friend of mine.”

“Good. Now we’ll tell the woman, and be on our way. Shall we have supper first?” asked Quentin.[252]

“No; we must have clear heads. We’ll have supper at the El Pino farm, or—in jail.”

“You’ve spoken like a man. Let’s go.”

They entered the garret.

“Do?a Sinda,” said Quentin, “we are going to crawl about the roof a bit.”

“Wait a moment, comrade,” said Pacheco. “They won’t do anything to me; but if they see you, they’ll tie you up,” and as he spoke, he opened a wardrobe, took out a grey cloak, a kerchief, and a broad-brimmed hat.

“Who’s that for?”

“For you.”

Pacheco made a bundle of the things, and said:

“Hurry! I’ll go first, then the Se?ora, and then you, Quentin.”

They formed themselves in single file and began to move. The night was dark, threatening a storm; distant flashes of lightning illuminated the heavens from time to time.

Do?a Sinda moved slowly and painfully.

“Come, Se?ora, come,” said Quentin; “we are near you.”

“My hands and knees hurt me,” she murmured. “If I could only walk on my feet.”

“You can’t do it,” said Pacheco. “You would fall into a courtyard.”

“Ay, dear me! I’m not going a step farther.”

“We’re going as far as that azotea.”

Do?a Sinda yielded; they crawled along the ridge of a long roof, and came out upon the azotea. They leaped the balustrade.[253]

“Oh, dear! I’m going to stay here!” exclaimed Do?a Sinda.

“But my dear woman, it’s only a little farther,” said Quentin.

“Well, I won’t budge.”

“Very well then, we’ll go on alone,” said Pacheco.

“Are we going to leave her here?” asked Quentin.

The bandit shrugged his shoulders, and without more ado, leaped over the balustrade again. Quentin followed him, and the two men rapidly covered a great distance.

“Now be careful,” warned Pacheco. “We’ve got to go around this cornice until we reach that window.”

It was a stone border about half a metre wide. At the end of it they could see a little illuminated balcony window, which as it threw the light against the wall, made the cornice look as if it were on the brink of a deep abyss. They went along very carefully on all fours, one behind the other. As they reached the balcony, Pacheco seized the balustrade and jumped upon the stairway. Quentin followed his example.

“Do you know, comrade,” remarked Quentin, “that this is scary business?”

“Then too, that light is enough to drive you crazy. In the daytime it doesn’t scare you at all to come over it. Now then, put on your cloak and the other tackle.”

Quentin tied his kerchief about his head, put on the hat, wrapped himself in the cloak and the two men descended the stairs into a garden. Crossing this, they came out upon the street.

“What is this building?” asked Quentin.

“It is a convent,” replied the bandit. “Now, we[254] mustn’t go together any more. You come along about twenty or thirty paces behind me.”

Quentin followed him at a distance, and after traversing several intricate alleys, they came out upon the Plaza de Séneca, and from there upon the Calle de Ambrosio de Morales, where the theatre was. A gas light illuminated the door, scarcely lessening the shadows of the street. The play had not yet begun. Pacheco entered a near-by shop, and Quentin followed him.

“You stay here,” said the bandit, “and when everybody has gone in, you follow. I’m going to the Countess’ house.”

People were crowding into the theatre; two or three carriages drove up; several whole families came along, with a sprinkling of artisans. When he no longer saw anyone in the lobby, Quentin left the little shop, entered the theatre, relinquished his ticket, climbed the stairs with long strides until he reached the top floor, and when he saw the usher, handed him a peseta.

The usher opened the door of a box.

“How is Se?or José?” he asked.

“Well.”

“He’s a fine fellow.”

“Yes, he is.”

“I’ve known him for a long time; not that I am from Ecija exactly, for I come from a little village near Montilla; I don’t know if you’ve heard its name....”

“See here,” said Quentin, “I came here because I am a relative of the actor who takes old men’s parts, and I am interested in hearing the performance and seeing how he acts; if you talk to me, I won’t be able to hear anything.”

“Gonzáles? Are you a relative of Gonzáles?[255]”

“Of Gonzáles, or Martínez, or the devil! Take another peseta, and leave me alone, for I’m going to see what kind of an actor my relative makes.”

“He’s a good comedian.”

“Very well, very well,” said Quentin, and pushing the garrulous usher into the aisle, he closed the door.

As there was scarcely any light up there, no one could recognize Quentin. The theatre was almost empty; they were giving a lachrymose melodrama in which appeared an angelic priest, a colonel who kept shouting “By a thousand bombs!” a traitor money-lender with crooked eyes who confessed his evil intentions in asides, a heroine, a hero, and a company of sailors and sailoresses, policemen, magistrates, and others of the proletariat....

While Quentin was being bored in his heights, Pacheco, ............