One night Manuel left the Círculo in company of a puny, sickly looking fellow. They were both bound in the same direction; they entered the Café de Lisboa; there the dwarf met a corpulent woman and sat down at a table with her. Manuel approached his cousin.
“What were you talking about to him?” asked Vidal.
“Nothing. About indifferent matters.”
“I warn you that he’s one of the police.”
“Is that so?”
“I should say.”
“But I saw him at the Círculo.”
“Yes. He goes there to collect graft. He’s married to that fatty he’s with now; her name’s La Chana, and she’s an old hand at swindling. She used to live on the Calle de La Visitación when I went around with Violeta. At that time La Chana ran a ‘fence.’ She knew every inspector on the force and lived with a bully called The Minister who was killed on the Calle de Alcalá. Watch out for El Garro; if he asks you anything, don’t answer a word. On the other hand, if you can pump anything out of him, by all means do so.”
The next day El Garro again managed to join Manuel, asking who he was and where he came from. Manuel, now on his guard, told him a string of lies with a face of the utmost innocence, pretending to be the dupe of Vidal and the Cripple.