Long I stood there on the floor listening, but I heard no sound. The house was as though all were wrapped in slumber.
Crossing to the window, I looked out; along the sand outside there was passing the figure of a man. I did not have to look twice to know who it was; short, thick, and clumsy, it could be none other than Father Francis.
He halted, and I saw another man step forward to meet him. They were too far away for me to recognize who the stranger was; wrapped in a great cloak, he stood close to Francis and they seemed to be engaged in an earnest conversation, for they would turn and point towards the mansion as they talked, and I saw the priest double in a loud fit of laughter.
At the sight a bitter smile crossed my lips, for I surmised that he was relating how he had outwitted and trapped me.
I turned my head; footsteps soft and slow were coming down the hall, and at the sound I crossed over to the door, and beat upon it with the hilt of the dagger. The steps stopped outside.
"What is it, Señor?" said the low voice of one of the Indian attendants, called José.
"Open, José," I whispered. "'Tis I, Sir Thomas."
A moment of silence. "I dare not, Señor," he whispered. "What would the Count say?"
"Open," I pleaded, "and thou shalt have a fine piece of gold with the face of the great mother across the water on it."
An instant, and then the key grated in the lock; the door swung open, and the face of the native peered in.