One of these was in front of the Casa Villa-Señor. More than once it had been my beacon before, and it guided me now.
On the opposite side of the street there was another grand house with a portico. Under the shadow of this I took my stand, to await the coming forth of the cochero.
Chapter Six.
“Va Con Dios!”
Though I had already made myself acquainted with his usual hour of repairing to the pulqueria, I had not timed it neatly.
For twenty minutes I stood with the billetita in my hand, and the doubloon in my pocket, both ready to be entrusted to him. No cochero came forth.
The house rose three stories from the street—its massive mason work giving it a look of solemn grandeur. The great gaol-like gate—knobbed all over like the hide of an Indian rhinoceros—was shut and secured by strong locks and double bolting. There was no light in the sagnan behind it; and not a ray shone through the jalousies above.
Not remembering that in Mexican mansions there are many spacious apartments without street windows, I might have imagined that the Casa Villa-Señor was either uninhabited, or that the inmates had retired to rest. The latter was not likely: it wanted twenty minutes to ten.