At length, however, it proved effectual. Among various other avocations he had been a Zapartero, of the class cobbler, and on a certain day did service to the mayor-domo by mending his shoes. For which he received payment in the permission to pass that night without being discommoded by the chain.
“It’s so very kind of you, Don Gregorio!” he said, when made aware of the grace to be given to him. “I ought to sleep sound this night, anyhow. But whether I do or not, I shall pray for you before going to bed all the same. Buenas noches!”
It was twilight outside, but almost total darkness within the cell, as the mayor-domo turned to go out of it. Otherwise he might have seen on the dwarfs features an expression calculated to make him repent his act of kindness, and instantly undo it. Could he have divined the thoughts at that moment passing through Zorillo’s mind, the clasp would have quickly closed around the latter’s leg, despite all gratitude due to him for the patching of the shoes.
“If I can get out,” he commenced in mental soliloquy, as the footfall of the mayor-domo died away in the distant corridor, “out and away from them, my fortune’s made; all sorts of good things in store for me. From this time forth I needn’t fear to present myself at the door of the Acordada; walk right into it. No danger of Don Pedro keeping me there now. Instead, I should be sent out again with a free pardon and a full purse. Chingara, talk of a cat in the cupboard, here are a score of them—half a hundred! And when I let them out—aha!”
He paused; then rising to his feet, moved across to the door, and laid his ear against it to listen. He heard sounds, but they were sounds of merriment—the counterfeit monks at their evening meal—and did not concern him.
“What a bit of luck it may turn out, after all, my getting coupled to that great brute and brought here! That is, if all goes well, and I can give them the slip. First, to make sure about the possibility of getting out of this hole. Carrai! I may be counting my chickens in the eggs.”
Leaving the door, he glided across to the window, and set himself square against it, as if to measure its breadth by that of his own body. It was but a slit, unglazed, a single iron bar, placed vertically, dividing the aperture into two. Without removing this he could not possibly pass through. But he had the means to remove it; that file, already known to the reader, which he had contrived to get possession of, and for days kept secret in his cell. First, however, he must see whether it was worth while using it; for during all the time of his being there he had never been allowed an opportunity to approach the window and look out.
Leaning forward into the recess, he thrust his head between the bar and jamb, so far out as to give him a view of the ground below. This was solid rock, the crest of a steep slope, from which the wall rose as above a buttress. But there was a ledge, some ten or twelve feet under the sill, narrow, but wide enough to afford footing, which led off to more level ground. How was he to reach it?
He knew, or he would not have acted as he now did. For without spending another second in the survey, he drew back from the window, plunged his hand under his bed mat, drew forth the file, and commenced rasping away at the bar. Not noisily or in any excited haste. Even if the obstacle were removed, the time had not come for his attempt to pass out. He would wait for an hour after midnight, when all had gone to their beds.
Eaten with rust, the iron was easily sawed through, a clean cut being made near its lower end. Then, laying aside the file, and grasping the bar, he wrenched it out of the solderings. If diminutive in body, his arms were sinewy and strong as those of a coal-heaver.