This Ortiz, noted as a pursuer of gamins and bandits, was a typical specimen of the criminal. He had black, clipped moustaches; beetling eyebrows that met over his flat nose; an upper lip that drew inwards, revealing his teeth to the very roots; a narrow forehead with a deep scar in the middle.
He dressed in country fashion, with dark clothes and a cap. There was something aggressive about him that recalled a bull dog,—something ferocious that suggested a wild boar.
“Aren’t you going to let me out?” asked Manuel.
“No.”
“There were some lady friends I had to see.”
“Lady friends don’t count hereabouts. Who are they? Some street walkers, I’ll bet....”
“No. They’re the sisters of a certain typesetter, a friend of mine. They were neighbours of mine in the Santa Casilda hostelry.”
“Ah! So you lived there?”
“Yes.”
“Then I must know them, too.”