“Oh, how I wish we could open the secret door!” I heard Monica exclaim.
“I can't even see exactly where it is now,” Pilar said. “Cristóbal?”
“Yes,” I answered.
“Poor little Rafael; a good fellow, wasn't he?”
“Very good,” I replied. To what end was she working? I wondered. But I was not to be made wiser. Before she had time to finish the hint I heard Carmona speaking.
“I've sent for Calmenare, who has returned, and will be here in a few minutes,” he called to me. It was like him to hurry back, so that by no possible means could the three suspected ones reach any understanding.
The moments dragged on, and I could have lashed myself [pg 119]with Philip's scourge in fury at the rashness which might involve the whole O'Donnel family in my disaster. Never had I been able to think less clearly; but perhaps it was the stifling atmosphere of the cell which made me feel that fingers in a mailed glove were clenched round my temples.
Outside, voices buzzed; but those who spoke must have stood at a distance, for I could catch no words. Then, at last, there was a new voice in the room. Calmenare had come.
“How do you do, Don Rafael?” Pilar exclaimed, as politely as if she had addressed an equal. “I'm glad to see you again. I've been waiting for you impatiently. Only think, my dear brother Cristóbal, whom you know so well, is in that dreadful place and can't get out, because the Señor Duque shut him in—by mistake—and broke the spring.”
“I do not find that it is broken, señorita,” answered the new voice.