I heard the groaning of the martyrs, and the cruel jeers of those who watched their agony, urged on by the hard-faced abbot, whose picture hung above us. Then the vision changed and I seemed to see the tragedy of the two Americans, of whose fate the señor had told me and whose blood still stained the floor. The darkness opened as it were, and I saw the beds on which they were sleeping heavily, stalwart men in the prime of life.
Then appeared figures standing over them, Don Pedro, Don José, and others, while from the shadows behind peeped the wicked face of their countryman, Don Smith. The bed-clothes were twitched away and once more all was black, but in the darkness I heard a sound of blows and groaning, of the hurrying feet of murderers, and the clinking of bags of money stolen from the dead men. Now the señor touched me and I woke with a start.
“Hark,” he whispered into my ear, “I hear men creeping about the room.”
“For the love of God, be silent,” I answered, gripping his hand.
CHAPTER IX.
THE DUEL
Now we placed our ears against the panelling and listened. First we heard creaks that were loud in the stillness, then soft heavy noises such as are made by a cat when it jumps from a height to the ground, and a gentle rubbing as of stockinged feet upon the floor. After this for some seconds came silence that presently was broken by the clink of steel, and the sound of heavy blows delivered upon a soft substance with swords and knives. The murderers were driving their weapons through the bed-clothes, thinking that we slept beneath them. Next we heard whisperings and muttered oaths, then a voice, Don José’s, said:
“Be careful, the beds are empty.”
Another instant and candles were lit, for their light reached us through small peep-holes in the panel, and by putting our eyes to these we could see what passed in the room. There before us we beheld Don José, Don Smith, and four of their companions, all armed with knives or machetes, while, framed, as it were in the wall, in the place that had been occupied by the picture of the abbot, stood our host, Don Pedro, holding a candle above his head, and glaring with his fish-like eyes into every corner of the room.
“Where are they?” he said. “Where are the wizards? Find them quick and kill them.”
Now the men ran to and fro about the chamber, dragging aside the beds and staring at the pictures on the wall as though they expected to see us there.