Perhaps even now some of his enemies were clambering up to the balcony, since he had shown them the way.
Roderic had at least retarded pursuit from that quarter by closing the door after quitting the apartment from whence the dismal shrieks sounded in a high pitched female voice, and the others might not prove so successful in finding the opening as he had been.
He knew the peculiarities of Spanish houses.
In all probability there was some means of reaching the roof, though he hardly expected to find an azotea with its flowers and place for lounging, as in the better class of more isolated dwellings.
Thus it came to pass that Roderic found himself crawling through an opening at the top of a ladder, and thus reaching the outer air.
His enemies were giving tongue with all the eagerness of a pack of hounds, and the quick and thrilling pulsation of blows announced that as yet the stubborn door had failed to yield before their vigorous assault.
Just then, however, a crash followed by a chorus of whoops and much laughter declared that success had finally rewarded their efforts.
Immediately the house would be swarming with the seekers after Yankee blood—like rats they would dart hither and thither, leaving no stone unturned in their eagerness to find that which was lost.
Roderic gave them his blessing.