Don Guzman, profiting by this movement of the colonel, dexterously threw off his poncho, cast it over the head of Don Bernardo, muffling him up in it in such a manner that he was bound and gagged before he could attempt to defend himself.
"For one trump a higher!" laughed Don Ribera.
"As you are determined to go with me, you shall, but in a different fashion to what you expected."
For answer, the colonel made a vain but desperate effort to free himself from his bonds.
"And now for the others!" exclaimed Don Guzman, with a triumphant look at his enemy, who was rolling on the floor in a paroxysm of impotent rage.
Five minutes later, the few soldiers who had been left in the zaguán were disarmed by the servants, bound with cords they had themselves brought for a far different purpose, and deposited on the steps of the neighbouring cathedral, where they were left to their fate.
As to the colonel, the old soldier, who had just shown so much presence of mind, had no idea as he had said himself, of leaving him behind. On the contrary, he had weighty reasons for taking him with him in the hazardous adventure he was about to undertake. So, as soon as he was on horseback, he threw his prisoner across the pummel of his saddle, and left the house attended by several trusty servants, well mounted, and armed to the teeth.
"Speed! Speed!" he cried, as soon as the door was closed. "Who knows but that this traitor may have sold us beforehand?"
The little party started at a gallop, and traversed the city—deserted at that time of night—with the speed of a storm wind.
But as soon as the riders reached the commencement of the suburbs, they gradually slackened their pace, and finally halted, at a sign from Don Guzman.