“Pish! What would they want them for?” And the ingenious chap with the sugar-loaf hat came out from behind his awning, tipped his hat toward one ear, caressed his goatee, and flourishing a white stick, abandoned his basket of lupine to fate, and accompanied Quentin until he left him in front of a second-hand store.
“Thank you very much, caballero,” said Quentin.
The wise man smiled, shifted his high-crowned hat from his left ear to his right, swung his stick, and, after bowing ceremoniously, departed.
Quentin entered the shop and explained to the clerk what he was looking for. The man, after listening to him, said:
“I’ve got that jewel-case.”
“Will you show it to me?”
“I don’t know why I shouldn’t.”
The man opened a writing-desk, and from the bottom of one of the drawers took out a small, blackened box. It had a coronet upon the cover, but the lining had been torn out, so they could not see the initials that Rafaela had mentioned to Quentin. Nevertheless, it was probably the right box. Quentin wished to make sure.
“Do you mind telling me,” he asked, “where this box came from?”
“Are you so interested in it?” questioned the pawnbroker rather sarcastically.