There was a light in the window of one of the houses, and they drew near to reconnoitre. By the illumination of a candle stub that was placed upon a kitchen shelf they made out a tattered old woman squatting on the floor. At her side, blanketed with rags, slept two boys and a little girl.
They left the patio and walked down an alley.
“There’s a family here that I don’t know,” said the sereno, and he knocked at the door with the tip of his pike. There was a delay in opening.
“Who is it?” asked a woman’s voice from within.
“The law,” answered Ortiz.
The door was opened by a woman in tatters, with nothing underneath. The watchman walked straight in, followed by Manuel and Ortiz; the place was filled with an atrocious, overpowering stench. Upon a wretched bed improvised out of shreds and paper refuse lay a blind woman. The sereno thrust his pike under the bed.
“You can see for yourselves. He isn’t here.”
Ortiz and Manuel left the Las Injurias district.
“El Bizco lived over in Las Cambroneras for a time,” suggested Manuel.