How long I remained unconscious I don't know. When I regained my senses it was to find myself in semi-darkness in a long, low-roofed shed. It was dimly lit by a ruddy light which fell through some kind of grating in the roof. I could see no windows. The atmosphere was stifling and the floor and walls fairly swarmed with enormous cockroaches.
They had laid me down on a pile of sail-cloth in a corner. My head was splitting and I had a raging thirst. My pockets had been rifled and my brandy-flask was gone. I leaned back on my hard couch, my head against the rough wall of planks, and idly watched the flickering reddish light that filtered through the grating. I was vaguely aware of some unpleasant news that lurked, like a robber in ambush, in some unfrequented corner of my brain ready to pounce out upon my first conscious thought....
Somewhere outside a guitar was thrumming random passages of Spanish dances, punctuated, now and then, by a little burst of castanets. The soft murmur of voices became audible every time the guitar stopped, with here a laugh and there an exclamation. Presently a voice called "Pablo!": the lilting rhythm of a dance theme stopped—suddenly in the middle of a bar—and the click of the castanets was stilled. Then, to soft, plaintive chords heavily stressed, an exquisite liquid tenor voice began to sing.
"Se murio, y sobre su cara"
"Un panuelito le heche...."
"Por que no toque la tierra...."
"Esa bocca que yo bese!...."
The chords broke off abruptly on a single string that sung reverberatingly. There was laughter, applause, the confusion of men speaking together. Then a voice said distinctly in German:
"He hadn't come round when I looked in ten minutes ago. Karl knows how to send them to sleep with that blow of his...."
"He'll come out of dreamland quick enough when der Stelze gives Black Pablo the word!" another voice replied.
"O Pablo," cried one in Spanish, "O Pablo! You shall try your little persuasions on the Señor!"
"Si, si," came from many throats.
"Madre de Dios," answered a voice in guttural Spanish. "He shall speak for me, muchachos! And if he will not speak, then, caramba! maybe he'll sing for us and for the lovely Señorita as well!"