"Do you know of any secret passage?" asked the general in an insinuating tone.
"Passage—who said passage," said the old man bristling up and looking around the room with unseeing eyes. "There is no passage; it's a lie. No one knows—no one knows but the old jailer."
The interpreter stepped up to the old man and whispered something in his ear. The wrinkled face cracked into a hideous grin that showed his almost toothless gums.
"Money," he chortled, "yes, give me money—gold." He reached out his gnarled hands and grasped at the air. The interpreter at a sign from General Serano, placed a peseta in one of his outstretched palms. He felt it for a moment, and then held it close to his nearly sightless eyes.
"No, no, you can't fool the old jailer," he whined. "That's silver. Gold, give me gold. The secret's worth it. 'Sh. You can go at night. Just touch the spring and slowly—slowly the stone will roll back. And then the rack. Ha, ha, the rack—that makes 'em talk."
Mr. Wyman shuddered when he thought of the scenes of horror the old jailer might have witnessed.
"Here is gold; will you show us the passage, now?"
"Yes, come."
The man started to his feet, and the interpreter, taking the place of one of the soldiers, guided his steps toward the door. General Serano rose from his seat and followed.
"Mr. Wyman, will you accompany us? The old man's mysterious secret passage may interest you."