“Certainly, Pedro,” came the reply.
Señor Lopez turned and smiled at the man he had called Pedro, and went to the rear of the room, from where he carried the meat. Pedro took the mutton upon his shoulder, and Señor Lopez followed him to the door, opening it and holding it wide so that the other could pass out. For a moment they talked in low tones, then Pedro hurried away, and Lopez closed the door and went back behind the counter.
“So you can use your voice when it pleases you to do so, it seems,” said the caballero. “Suppose you use a portion of it now, in answer to some questioning of mine. If it is necessary, I’ll pay for it. Give me this much voice, Señor Lopez!”
He threw a gold coin down upon the counter so that it rang. Lopez turned slowly and faced him, looked him straight in the eyes a moment, then went back to the shelf and began arranging the jars again.
If the eyes of the caballero had snapped before, they blazed now. He placed both hands upon the counter as if to spring over it and throttle the man who refused to speak, but he seemed to decide against that, and the smile came upon his face again, only the quality of the smile was not the same.
On one end of the counter was a heap of small stone jars, filled, evidently with fruit and oil. The caballero picked up a bar of metal from the counter, walked deliberately to the heap of jars, and crashed the heavy bar down among them.
Señor Lopez jumped as if he had been shot, and turned to see the caballero standing before the ruin, the inscrutable smile still upon his lips. He raised the bar again, and again he crashed it among the jars, sending fruit and oil to the floor.
“Señor!” Lopez cried.
“I thought that would make you find your voice. As for the damage, I’ll pay it. Now suppose you open your lips and explain this strange conduct, before I get genuinely angry and carry on the work of destruction.”
Their eyes clashed for a moment, and then Lopez spoke: