“They’re not going to catch me again,” thought Manuel. But at once it occurred to him that the texture of the law was so stout and close-woven that it was exceedingly difficult not to be enmeshed in it, no matter how careful a fellow might be.
“You haven’t yet told me to whom I owe my freedom,” exclaimed Manuel.
“To whom you owe your freedom? To me,” answered El Garro.
Manuel made no comment.
“And now, where are we bound to?” he asked.
“The Campillo del Mundo Nuevo.”
“We’ve got a long journey ahead of us, then.”
“At the Puerta del Sol we’ll take the tram for La Fuentecilla.”
Which they did. They got off at the end of the line and proceeded along the Calle de Arganzuela. At the end of this street, to their right, having reached the Plaza that constitutes El Campillo del Mundo Nuevo, they stopped. They passed through a long corridor into a wide patio ringed by galleries.
El Garro walked into the first open door and asked in a voice of authority: