“Don Quentin! Don Quentin!”
The same silence.
El Cuervo gently opened the door. The bird had flown. But where?
In response to El Cuervo’s cries, Pacheco, Carrahola, and El Taco, came hurrying up the stairs.
“What’s the matter?” they asked.
“He’s not here.”
“That’s what I thought!” exclaimed Pacheco. “What can be in the pocketbook? Let’s look at it.”
They descended rapidly, Pacheco cut the threads, opened the pocketbook, and spilled upon the counter the child’s copy papers and Father Ripalda’s catechism, worn and shabby.
A cry of rage burst from every throat.
“We must look for him,” said one, “and make him pay for this joke.”