"Well, his heel might have been sore, and I didn't want to meddle, especially as you think a good deal of him, Father."
"I do. He's the best book-keeper I ever had. I'll get your mother to send him some turpentine: that'll put him to rights."
In the course of the day Romaña was despatched by Mrs. O'Hagan with a bottle of turpentine for the sick man. Pardo was not to be seen. The old half-breed woman who looked after him told Romaña that her master had not risen that day, complaining of pains and stiffness in his back.
"Has he sent for the doctor?" he asked.
"Not yet. He says it is a chill, and will soon pass."
"The mistress has sent some stuff to cure him. The instruction is to rub it into the skin very thoroughly. Take it to Señor Pardo, and ask if I can do anything for him."
The old woman went off with the bottle. Romaña had noticed Pardo's coat lying over the back of a chair. As soon as he was alone, he lifted the coat, cast a rapid but searching glance over it, and laid it on the chair again.
"Many thanks, señor," came Pardo's voice from the inner room. "Thank the gracious lady for me, and say that I hope to return to my beloved duty in a day or two."
"Is the pain very severe, señor?" asked Romaña sympathetically.
"Not so severe as the stiffness, señor. Take care that you don't take a chill."