Charlotte looked out with some interest. The building before which they had stopped stood on a corner; it was two-storied, of stuccoed brick, and made gloomy by wide galleries resting on brick and stone arches. It exhaled a strong odor of cooking onions and garlic, of wine from the wine-room at the corner, and she insensibly drew back. Almost at once Converse and McCaleb, Mr. Mountjoy and the Coroner appeared before the carriage door.
The first-named shot a quizzical look at her, but still vouchsafed no explanation more than the fact that they were at their journey's end.
After stepping under the balcony which roofed the walk, she was enabled to read on one of the door-panes the words, "La Posada Mejicana, R. Velasquez," which she did with a little start. It was the place whither Clay had fled upon that memorable day, and where he had written to Mr. Nettleton. She glanced at the latter now, but he appeared unwontedly sober. The Doctor's curiosity was frank, though speechless; he doubtless had resigned himself to await the issue.
The door was opened by a short stout man, whose features were broad and dark. His hair was very black and straight and coarse, and to this man Converse spoke a word or two in Spanish. He responded volubly, and smiled a bright welcome upon the remainder of the party.
"Coom een," he said, cordially; "entre Ustedes—ah, Señor Nettletone—como esta Usted? Entre! Entre!" To which the lawyer responded gravely.
"Eet ees a fine day—si?" vociferated the stout little man, cheerfully; and when the last of the party had entered he closed the door once more and placed himself beside Mr. Converse.
"Lead on," said the latter with a gesture; "you know."
"Dees way." He piloted them down a chilly, dark corridor to a flight of stairs.
The party presently arrived at the second floor, Charlotte holding the Doctor's arm tightly, and the way led through another dim corridor to a door, before which the guide paused. His manner had become all at once comically mournful.
"Ah, el póbre señor—he ees un seeck hombre—mucho malo," he whispered hoarsely. "I must go." He departed on tiptoe, and Converse tapped lightly upon the door.