QUENTIN returned to the inn and shut himself up in his room. He wrote a farewell article for La Víbora entitled “And this is the End.”

When night fell, he lit his lamp and sent for his supper. He ate in his room to avoid any unpleasant encounters in the dining-room.

With his supper, the waiter brought two letters. One, by the rudely scrawled envelope, he saw was from Pacheco’s brother. It read as follows:

If you do not return the pocketbook you found in my brother’s house, you will not leave Cordova alive. Don’t fool yourself; you will not escape. Every exit is watched. You can leave the money in El Cuervo’s tavern, where some one will go and get it.

A Friend.

“Very good,” said Quentin, “let’s see the other letter.” He opened it, and it was still more laconic than the first.

We know that you have money, and do not wish to pay. Be careful.

Various Creditors.

“Well, sir,” murmured Quentin, “a whole conspiracy of bandits and money-lenders is plotting against me.”

It suited neither him nor the others to have the law mixed up in the affair. The cleverest, the strongest, or he who had the most cunning, would gain the day.

Quentin figured that he possessed those qualities to a[333] greater degree than his enemies; this thought calmed him a little, but in spite of it, he could not sleep that night.

When he got up, he looked, as was his daily habit, through the windows of his room. Directly opposite, seated upon a bench, there were several loathsome individuals spying on him. At that very moment others took their places. Evidently there was a relief.

After eating, Quentin left the inn. When he reached the corner of the Calle de Gondomar, he looked cautiously behind him. Three men were following him, though apparently unconcerned with his movements. Quentin went down the street to Las Tendillas, turned to the left, entered the Casino, and sat down to take his coffee near a window that looked out upon the street.

The three individuals continued their espionage.

Quentin pretended not to see them. He seized several newspapers; and while he appeared to be deeply engaged in reading them, he was thinking up plans of escape and turning them over and over in his mind. The important thing was to keep the law from interfering, that there might be no scandal.

Don Paco, who had come in to take coffee, surprised him in this caviling. The man was oozing joy. The Revolution was made, the most glorious, the most humane that the centuries had ever witnessed. The entire world, the French, the English, the Swiss, the Germans;—all envied the Spaniards. Spain was going to be a different sort of country. Now, now, the great conquests of Progress and Democracy would be realized: Universal Suffrage, Freedom of Worship, Freedom of Association.

“And do you believe that all that will make life any better?” asked Quentin coldly.[334]

“Why, of course!” exclaimed Don Paco, astonished at the question. “I tell you that the whole Progressist program is to be realized!”

Quentin smiled mockingly.

Don Paco continued his oration. His eternal sorrow was to see that after what he had done for the Revolution, they did not appreciate his true worth.

While the old man discoursed, Quentin continued to ruminate on his plans, and to absently watch his pursuers. Suddenly an idea occurred to him.

“Well, good afternoon, Don Paco!” he said; and without another word, he rose from his chair and left the room. He crossed the patio of the Casino, went up a stairway, asked a waiter for the key to the terrace, waited for it a moment, and went out upon the azotea. He could escape in that way, but there was still the danger of his exit from the city....

“Suppose I go to El Cuervo’s tavern and leave by the convent route?” he said to himself. “That would be admirable. Place myself in the wolf’s mouth to make my escape! That’s just what I’ll do. I’ll wait for it to get dark first.”

He went down to the salon again and took his place by the window. The espionage still continued. Late in the afternoon, Carrahola and El Rano passed along the street.

Quentin went to the door of the Casino and called to Carrahola.

“Do you mind telling me what this persecution means?” he said.

“You know better than any one else, Don Quentin,” answered Carrahola. “You are wrong not to return that money.[335]”

“Bah!”

“Sí, Se?or; that’s the truth. Everything is guarded; the station, the roads,—you won’t leave Cordova unless you pay.”

“Really?” asked Quentin apparently frightened.

“You hear me. So you’d better hand over that money and not expose yourself to a stab with a dagger.”

“The devil! You very nearly convince me.”

“Do it, Don Quentin.”

“To whom shall I hand the money?”

“To Pacheco, Se?or José’s brother. He goes to El Cuervo’s tavern every night about eight o’clock.”

“I’ll think it over.”

“Don’t stop to think, my friend! You ought to take that money back right away.”

“Well, you have persuaded me. I’ll go right away.”

Quentin made his way to the inn, followed by Carrahola and El Rano. He entered his room, closed the window, and lit the lamp. He still had in his pocket the pocketbook that he had found in Pacheco’s house. He took it out and placed it on the table.

He opened the wardrobe, searched the drawers, and in one of them found some copy paper written by a child, and in another a torn, and well-worn catechism by Father Ripalda.

He took the copy paper and the catechism, tied them together with a pack-thread, and thrust the package into the pocketbook which he tied up with another bit of thread.

“Very good,” he murmured with a smile.

This done, he put out the light, thrust the purse into his coat pocket, and left the inn. He began to walk rapidly, as one who has made a quick decision. He made[336] his way to El Cuervo’s tavern, escorted by Carrahola and El Rano.

He looked into the office, and when he saw El Cuervo, exclaimed sourly:

“Hello!”

“Hello, Don Quentin!”

“Is Pacheco’s brother here?”

“No, Se?or.”

“What time will he come?”

“Oh, somewhere around eight o’clock.”

“Good. I have come to have an understanding with him, and I can’t make up my mind whether to give him the money or a stab with a dagger. Look here, here’s the pocketbook he’s looking for. Keep it. I’m going to wait in here for Pacheco, because I have some letters to write.”

“Go right upstairs.”

Quentin and El Cuervo went upstairs to a room with a balcony overlooking a patio.

“I’ll bring you some paper and ink presently,” said the landlord.

“Good. Until Pacheco comes, I do not wish to be disturbed by any one. Do you understand?”

“Very good.”

“When he comes, call me, and he and I will come to an understanding. But he must agree not to open the pocketbook until I am with him.”

“Never fear.”

The innkeeper went out and left Quentin alone in the room. He listened for a moment and heard the gay voices of Carrahola and El Rano. Evidently they were already celebrating their victory.

“Come, there’s no time to be lost,” said Quentin.[337] Climbing to the outside of the balcony, which was not very high, and clinging to a water pipe, he lowered himself to the patio. This he skirted, hugging close to the wall. He pushed open the little door, closed it noiselessly behind him, and began slowly to climb the stairs. The steps creaked beneath his weight.

When Quentin arrived at the top of the stairs, he saw that the door through which he had once passed with El Cuervo, was locked. It had a transom, which he opened, and with a superhuman effort, managed to squeeze himself t............