"Any one would be a fool to go out at this time of day," he mused. "I wonder where the fellows are?"
He stepped back under the shade of the arcade that extended clear around the patio and threw himself onto a stone seat.
"Queer old place," he thought, "and a queer old seat."
He laid his hand on one of the carved arms and mechanically toyed with an eagle's head that formed one of the decorations. To his surprise the head turned in his hand.
"I hope I haven't broken it," he said as he examined it more closely.
It was clearly made to revolve and so he turned it clear around, when of a sudden the arm of the seat fell apart and the bottom collapsed, disclosing to Billie's astonished eyes a pair of stairs.
Almost thrown to the pavement by the giving way of the seat, Billie picked himself up and looked about to see if he were observed.
There was no one in sight and he stooped down and examined the stairs carefully. Then he straightened up and rubbed his chin as a sudden gleam of intelligence passed through his brain.
"So," he muttered, "this is why Santiago dwells in a house that is directly back of the banker's. That was his box and he is the strange man who made the million-dollar deposit in Don Esteban's bank."
Then he stopped and pondered.