CHAPTER VI
What Happened In the Judge’s Office—The Chapter House
Several hours later the judge received three urgent letters. He opened them, and at once rang a bell.
“Who brought these letters?” he asked of the guard.
“A lackey.”
“Is there any plain-clothes man about?”
“There’s El Garro.”
“Send him in.”
The agent entered and came over to the judge’s desk.
“In these letters,” began the judge, “there is reference to the deposition just made by that boy arrested yesterday. How does it come that any one should have knowledge of his declaration?”
“I don’t know.”
“Has this boy been speaking with anybody?”
“Nobody,” answered El Garro, calmly.
“In this letter, two ladies whom the minister can refuse nothing, ask him, and he in turn asks me, to quash this entire matter. What interest can these two ladies have in the affair?”
“I don’t know. If I knew who they were, perhaps....”
“They are Señora de Braganza and the Marchioness of Buendía.”
“Ah, then I understand the whole thing. The proprietors of the Círculo where the boy used to work are anxious lest he speak of the gambling house. One of the proprietors is the Colonel’s wife, who must have gone to see these ladies, and then the ladies must have had recourse to the minister.”
“And what’s the connection between the Colonel’s wife and these ladies?”
“She lends out money. This Señora de Braganza once forged her husband’s name, and the Colonel’s wife has the document in her possession.”
“And the marchioness?”
“As to her, that’s another matter. You know that her most recent lover was Ricardo Salazar.”
“The former deputy?”
“Yes, and a dyed-in-the-wool rascal. One or two years ago, when the relations between Ricardo and the marchioness were still in the early stages, the marchioness would receive from time to time a letter which read: ‘I have in my possession a note addressed by you to your lover, in which you say this and that (pretty intimate things). If you don’t come across with a thousand pesetas, I’ll see that your husband gets that letter.’ She was scared out of her wits, and paid three, four, five times, until on the advice of a lady friend, and in agreement with an officer, they apprehended the man who brought the letters. And it turned out that he was sent by Ricardo Salazar himself.”
“By the lover?”
“Yes.”
“There’s a gallant cavalier for you!”
“When the marchioness and Ricardo fell out....”
“On the discovery of this plot with the letter?”
“No. The marchioness forgave him for that. They had a quarrel because Ricardo asked for money which the marchioness couldn’t or wouldn’t give him. Salazar owed three thousand duros to the Colonel’s wife, and that lady, who is nobody’s fool, said to him: ‘You hand me over the marchioness’s letters and we’ll cancel your debt.’ Ricardo handed them over, and ever since that day the marchioness is bound hand and foot to the Colonel’s wife and her associates.”
The judge arose from his chair and walked slowly about the room.
“Then there’s an impersonal note from the director of El Popular, asking me not to prosecute this case. What connection can there be between the gambling den and the owner of that paper?”
“He’s one of the partners. In case the den should be discovered, the newspaper would start a strong campaign against the government.”
“How’s a man going to administer justice under such conditions!” muttered the judge, pensively.
El Garro gazed ironically at the magistrate.
At this moment the telephone bell rang; the ringing continued for an appreciable while.
“With your permission?” asked a clerk.
“What is it?”
“A message from the minister, asking whether the case has been disposed of according to his desires.”
“Yes, tell him yes,” grumbled the judge, ill-humouredly. Then he turned to the agent. “This youngster we’ve arrested,—isn’t he in any way involved in the crime?”
“Absolutely none,” answered El Garro.
“Is he the dead man’s cousin?”
“Yes, your honour.”
“And he knows El Bizco?”
“Yes. He was a friend of his.”
“Could he help the police in the capture of El Bizco?”
“I’ll see to that part of it. Shall the prisoner be set free?”
“Yes. We must capture El Bizco. Aren’t his whereabouts known?”
“He must be in hiding around the suburbs.”
“Isn’t there any agent who knows the suburban hangouts well?”
“The best of them is a fellow named Ortiz. If you will kindly give me a note to the Chief to place Ortiz under my orders, I’ll guarantee that El Bizco will be in a cell within a week.”
The judge summoned a clerk, ordered him to write the letter, and handed it to El Garro.
El Garro left the judge’s office and had Manuel released from the dungeon.
“Must I make another declaration?” asked the boy.
“No. You’re to sign the one you made and then you’re free. Come along, now.”
They went out into the street. At the Court House entrance Manuel caught sight of La Pea and La Salvadora; the latter had lost her ordinarily dour expression.
“Are you free already?” they asked him.
“It looks like it. How did you learn that I’d been arrested?”
“We read it in the papers,” answered La Fea, “and she thought of bringing you food.”
“And Jesús?”
“In the hospital.”
“What’s the matter with him?”
“His chest ... he’s much better now.... Come right home, won’t you? We live over on Mellizo Lane, near the Calle de la Arganzuela.”
“All right.”
“So long, then.”
“Good-bye, and many thanks.”
El Garro and Manuel turned the corner and entering a portal with a bronze lion on either side, climbed a short staircase.
“What’s this?” asked Manuel.
“This is the Chapter House.”
They passed along a corridor, between black screens, into a room where two men sat writing. El Garro asked for El Gaditano.
“He must be out there,” they informed him.
The agent and Manuel continued on their way. The corridors swarmed with men who were scurrying to and fro in great haste. Others were motionless, in quiet attendance. These were ragged toilers, women garbed in black, sad old ladies bearing the stamp of poverty,—a frightened, timorous, humble rout.
The men who were scurrying back and forth carried letter-files and documents under their arms; all or almost all of them wore a lofty, proud expression. There was the judge who strode by in his cap and black frock coat, gazing indifferently through his spectacles; there was the clerk, not quite so grave and more jovial, who would call over some one, whisper into his ear, go into the office, sign a document and come out again; there was the young lawyer who asked how his cases were getting along; there were the procurator, the attorneys, the clerks, the office boys.
And here, too, thrusting this drove of humble and poverty-stricken human cattle toward the shambles of Justice, appeared the usurer, the policeman, jewel brokers, moneylenders, landlords....
They all had an understanding with the office boys and the clerks, who saw to their affairs; these employés would pigeon-hole troublesome cases, arrange or embroil a suit and send a fellow to prison or take him out,—all for a small consideration.
What an admirable machinery! From the lowest to the highest of these pettifoggers, with or without a toga, they knew how to exploit the humble, the poor in spirit, and how to protect the sacred interests of society by seeing to it that the needle on the balance of justice always inclined toward the side of wealth....
El Garro found El Gaditano, and asked him:
“Listen, it was you who took down this boy’s declaration, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Well, kindly put down that it is not known who killed his cousin; that it is supposed to be El Bizco, but that’s all. And then order him released.”
“Very well. Step into the office.”
They passed into a small room with a window at the rear. Against one of the longer walls was a closet, on top of which lay a number of articles involved in recent robberies and seizures, among them a bicycle.
El Gaditano came in, drew a bundle of documents from the closet and began to write rapidly.
“ ... That he’s a cousin of the dead man and that it is supposed that the author of this crime is a fellow nicknamed El Bizco; isn’t that it?”
“That’s it,” corroborated El Garro.
“Very well. Have him sign here.... Now, here.... That’s all.”
The agent took leave of El Gaditano; Manuel and El Garro went out into the street.
“Am I free now?” asked Manuel.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“They’ve set you free on one condition: that you help in the capture of El Bizco.”
“I’m not a member of the police force.”
“Very well, then. Have your choice: either you help to capture El Bizco or you go back to the dungeon.”
“Nothing doing. I’ll help to capture El Bizco.”