“The hunchback, Zorillo,” answered José, to the astonishment of all. For in the dialogue between the dwarf and Santander, he had heard enough to anticipate the ghastly spectacle awaiting him on his way up the mountain.
Cries of anger and vengeance were simultaneously sent up; all showing eager to rush from the room. They but waited for a word more.
Rivas, however, suspecting that the messenger meant that word for himself, claimed their indulgence, and led him outside, inviting Kearney to accompany them.
Though covering much ground, and relating to many incidents, the cochero’s story was quickly told. Not in the exact order of occurrence, but as questioned by his impatient listeners. He ran rapidly over all that happened since their parting at the corner of the Coyoacan road, the latter events most interesting them. Surprised were they to hear that Don Ignacio and his daughter for some time had been staying at San Augustin—the Condesa with them. Had they but known that before, in all probability things would not have been as now. Possibly they might have been worse; though, even as they stood, there was enough danger impending over all. As for themselves, both Mexican and Irishman, less recked of it, as they thought of how they were being warned, and by whom. That of itself was recompense for all their perils.
Meanwhile those left inside the room were chafing to learn the particulars of the treason, though they were not all there now. Some had sallied out, and gone down the cliff to bring up the body of their murdered comrade; others, the major-domo conducting, back to the place where the hunchback should be, but was not. There to find confirmation of what had been said. The cell untenanted; the window bar filed through and broken; the file lying by it, and the chain hanging down outside.
Intelligible to them now was the tale of treason, without their hearing it told.
When once more they assembled in the Refectory, it was with chastened, saddened hearts. For they had come from digging a grave, and lowering into it a corpse. Again gathered around the table, they drank the stirrup-cup, as was their wont, but never so joylessly, or with such stint.