Here he went around pretending to be one of the secret service, tramping the streets, until he took up with a partner and dedicated himself to burial swindles, which, despite the extent of their practice, still yield results to professional imposters. At one time he formed a society of espadistas and domestics for the robbing of houses; he forged notes; then there was no deceit or swindle to which he would not stoop; and as he was a nimble-witted, clear-eyed fellow, he made a methodical study of all the known methods of trickery; he weighed the pros and the contras of each and every one, and found that they all had their disadvantages.
“At last,” concluded El Garro, “he met the Master, who has retired. I don’t know myself where they got the money for these dives; but the fact is that they have them.”
“Are there more than one of these Círculos?” asked Manuel.
“This is the only one that’s open to the public. But they have the house belonging to the Colonel’s wife, where much more gambling goes on. That’s where the Master is every night. Haven’t you ever been to that house?”
“No.”
“They’ll take you there, all right. If you have any money to lose, between Vidal and the Cripple they’ll take you there. Then the Colonel’s wife, since she’s launching her daughter as a dancer, is going to open a salon.”
“Is this Colonel’s wife a Cuban?” asked Manuel.
“Yes.”
“Then I know her. And I know a friend of hers, too, whose name is Mingote.”
The agent eyed Manuel with a certain suspicion.