“Nay, most illustrious, it cannot, for it lies at the back, or northern extremity, of the western half of the town,” answered Pacheco. “It lies in the direction of the western tower of the cathedral, but far beyond it.”
“Um–m!” commented Bascomb; “then, after all, there would not have been much chance of reaching it with our guns. Is it a strong place? Shall we find it very difficult to force our way in?”
“I have never been inside—the saints be praised—so cannot tell you very much about it,” answered Pacheco. “So far as the building itself is concerned, it is a strong place, being built entirely of stone, with high walls, which are said to be nowhere less than three feet thick. But the main entrance is guarded only by a pair of oaken doors—massive, no doubt, but probably fastened only with bolts of ordinary strength; for who would ever dream of attempting to break into the Inquisition? Heaven forgive me for affording information to these heretical English,” he muttered under his breath in his native tongue; “but, indeed, if in their fury they should tear the place down, I for one should not be sorry!”
“Are there many troops in the town?” demanded Bascomb.
“About a hundred, illustrious señor,” answered Pacheco. “Five hundred are on their way down from the interior, it having been intended to send them home in the galleon, but I have not heard that they have yet arrived.”
“If they had arrived, do you think you would have heard of it?” demanded Bascomb.
“I might, señor; but, on the other hand, I might not,” answered Pacheco. “If they had arrived and marched into the town openly, doubtless I and every other inhabitant of Cartagena would have been aware of the fact. But, señor, your question has given rise to a doubt in my mind, and I am now wondering whether, in view of your presence in the harbour and your threat to bombard the town, his Excellency the Governor may not have taken steps to have the expected troops intercepted and introduced into the town secretly during the dead of night. If you were to ask my advice, señor, I should recommend you not to trust overmuch to the fact that I have heard nothing of the arrival of those soldiers.”
“See here, sirrah!” ejaculated Bascomb, suddenly rounding upon the man, “you are extraordinarily free and glib with your information. Now, are you a traitor to your own people, or is your information false and intended to mislead us?”
“Neither, señor, on my honour as a Spaniard,” answered Pacheco. “The fact is,” he continued in explanation, “that I have seen much of the English during my business as a seafarer, and have learned to like them, in spite of their overbearing ways and the fact that they are heretics. Moreover, señor, you are about to attack the Inquisition, and good Catholic though I am, it would not grieve me were you to take it and give it to the flames, for I like it not, and that’s the truth, the saints forgive me!”
“Now, gentles,” said Bascomb, “you have heard what Señor Pacheco has said about the troops, and if it be truth—as I doubt not it is—it behoves us to be careful how we thrust our noses into that city of Cartagena yonder. Yet go I must, and will; for it is not to be thought of that our Captain may be in their accursed Inquisition, perhaps suffering torments unimaginable, and we doing nothing to help him. Therefore, in view of the possibility of those troops having arrived, and having been secreted somewhere in the town, I think we must modify our plans a little, to the extent, that is to say, of making the landing-party as strong as we can at the expense of the party remaining behind. Now, Mr Winter, what is the smallest number of men that you would care to be left with?”