As Moreno went out of the house, he saw the police commissioner standing at the foot of the stairs leading to the street. Evidently the comisario was waiting for him. And don Roque did not take long to express his indignation.
“You people seem to think that you can do anything you like, just as though there were no law in the land, no authority, no anything, just as though the Indians were still running it. Well, I’m the police commissioner, though you don’t seem to know it, and it’s my job to keep other people from doing all the crazy things that they take it into their heads to do. When is that duel to take place? I must know.”
Moreno was not disposed to give the information requested of him, and the comisario, in view of this disinclination to obey, went on in a gentler tone,
“You might as well tell me without making any bones about it. You know very well that there isn’t one of you who would approve of such a thing taking place with me present in the town. Tell me when the thing is coming off.... So I can get out before it happens.”
Moreno murmured something in his ear and the comisario acknowledged the confidence by grasping the official’s hand. Then he walked towards his horse who was hitched near by, and just as he was about to mount him, he added, very low,
“I am going to spend the night in Fuerte Sarmiento and I won’t be back until tomorrow afternoon. Do whatever you like.... I know nothing about it!”
CHAPTER XIV
THE last of the customers to leave the boliche that evening were going home when Robledo stopped in front of the house Elena occupied.
He went softly up the stairs and, after a few seconds of hesitation, knocked gently at the door. After a very brief interval it opened, and Sebastiana appeared, thoroughly surprised at being summoned in this fashion just as she was going to bed. Her coarse hair was arranged in numerous braids, each one of which was tied at the end with a knot of ribbon or string, and with her enormous arms she tried to conceal a part of her copper-colored and exuberant bosom, freed from the compression of her corset. Her wrathful eyes, which gave warning of the hailstorm of abusive words with which she was planning to receive the importunate disturber of her peace, softened at sight of Robledo, and before he had time to speak, she was saying in the most amiable tone in the world,
“The mistress is in her bedroom, and the señor marqués has gone out with his accursed pistol case. I thought he was at your house ... but come in, I’ll go call the señora.”