A party of officers at once surrounded him, and he quitted the room. At the door he perceived the usher, who looked at him impertinently, but he merely shrugged his shoulders in contempt. His escort, without leaving the cabildo, led him through a labyrinth of passages, which would have been puzzling to anyone unacquainted with the gloomy building.
"Where the deuce are you leading me, my masters?" the prisoner asked; "Does this palace also contain cells?"
"Cells and dungeons," one of the officers replied; "it communicates with the Tribunal of the Holy Inquisition."
"Come," the Canadian said, with a laugh, "that is very convenient; in that way his Excellency the General can lay hands on his prisoners whenever he thinks proper."
This sally made the officers laugh. A moment after they informed the prisoner that they had arrived. They halted, and one of them, who bore a large bunch of keys, selected one, and opened a low and apparently very substantial door; a puff of hot foetid air at once issued from the opening. The Canadian gave an involuntary shudder, but his guardians allowed him no time for reflection; they thrust him unceremoniously into the dungeon, bolted the door upon him, and the prisoner suddenly found himself in complete darkness.
"Well," he muttered, so soon as he was alone, "I believe that Diego López was right, and that I acted like an ass in not following his advice."
Unfortunately for him, this sensible reflection came too late.