Chivey was supposed to be hiding.
In reality he was a prisoner in the house of Señor Velasquez, and he knew it.
The notary was an old man, and he suffered from sundry ailments which belong to age—notably to rheumatism.
An acute attack prostrated the old man, and held him down when he was most anxious to be up and doing.
And the night before Herbert Murray was to set sail, he lay groaning and moaning with racking pains.
His cries reached Chivey, who lay in the next room, and he came to the sick man's door to ask if he could be of any assistance.
He peered warily in.
In spite of his groans and anguish, the old notary was insensible under the influence of an opiate.
Chivey crept in.
On a low table beside the bed was a lamp flickering fearfully, and a glass containing some medicine.