He took a cigarette from his pocket, and lit it with a steady hand.
The flame of the match showed his brows and deep-set eyes. If ever a man had acquaintance with grief printed upon him, it was he. But throughout the interview the glowing weed could be seen, a waxing and waning rim of fire, lighting up his grey moustache and then hovering in mid-air, motionless.
The officer appointed to speak presented his report in these terms.
"We were upon our round about the wood of La Huerca six days ago, and had occasion to visit the Convent of La Pena. Upon information received from the Prior we questioned a certain religious, who admitted that he had recently buried a man in the wood. After some hesitation, which we had the means of overcoming, he conducted us to the grave. We disinterred the deceased, who had been murdered. Senor Don Luis----"
"Proceed," said Don Luis coldly. "I am listening."
"Sir," said the officer. "It was the body of a young man who had come from Pobledo. He called himself Esteban Vincaz." Tormillo, under his tree across the avenue, howled and rent himself. Don Luis heard him.
"Precisely," he said to the officer. "Have the goodness to wait while I silence that dog over there." He went rapidly over the roadway to Tormillo, grasped him by the shoulder and spoke to him in a vehement whisper. That was the single action by which he betrayed himself. He returned to his interview.
"I am now at leisure again. Let us resume our conversation. You questioned the religious, you say? When did the a.s.sa.s.sination take place?"
"Don Luis, it was upon the twelfth of May."
"Ah," said Don Luis, "the twelfth of May? And did he know who committed it?"
"Senor Don Luis, it was a woman."
The wasted eyes were upon the speaker, and made him nervous. He turned away his head. But Don Luis continued his cross-examination.
"She was a fair woman, I believe? A Valencian?"
"Senor, si," said the man. "Fair and false, a Valencian."
Of Valencia they say, "_La carne es herba, la herba agua, el hombre muger, la muger nada_."
"Her name," said Don Luis, "began with M."
"Senor, si. It was Manuela, the dancing girl--called La Valenciana, La Fierita, and a dozen other things. But, pardon me the liberty, your worship had been informed?"
"I knew something," said Don Luis, "and suspected something. I am much obliged to you, my friends. Justice will be done. Good night to you."
He turned, touching the brim of his hat; but the man went after him.
"A thousand pardons, senor Don Luis, but we have our duty to the State."
"Eh!" said Don Luis sharply. "Well, then, you had best set to work upon it."
"If your worship has any knowledge of the whereabouts of this woman----"
"I have none," said Don Luis. "If I had I would impart it, and when I have it shall be yours. Go now with G.o.d."
He crossed the pathway of light, laid his hand on the shoulder of the weeping Tormillo. "Come, I need you," he said. Tormillo crept after him to his lodging, and the Guardias Civiles made themselves cigarettes.
The following day a miracle was reported in Valladolid. Don Luis Ramonez was not in his place in the Cafe de la Luna. Sebastian the goldsmith, Gomez the pert barber, Pepe the waiter, Micael the water-seller of the Plaza Mayor knew nothing of his whereabouts. The old priest of Las Angustias might have told if his lips had not been sealed. But in the course of the next morning it was noised about that his Worship had left the city for Madrid, accompanied by a servant.
CHAPTER XI
GIL PEREZ DE SEGOVIA
Before he left Valladolid Manvers had sold his horse for what he could get, and had taken the _diligencia_ as far as Segovia. Not a restful conveyance, the _diligencia_ of Spain: therefore, in that wonderful city of towers, silence, and guarded windows, he stayed a full week, in order, as he put it, that his bones might have time to set.
[Ill.u.s.tration: The towers of Segovia.]
There it was that he became the property of Gil Perez, who met him one day on the doorstep of his hotel, saluted him with a flourish and said in dashing English, "Good morning, Mister. I am the man for you. I espeak English very good, Dutch, what you like. I show you my city; you pleased--eh?" He had a merry brown face, half of a quiz and half of a rogue, was well-dressed in black, wore his hat, which was now in his hand, rather over one ear. Manvers met his saucy eyes for a minute, saw anxiety behind their impudence, could not be angry, burst into a laugh, and was heartily joined by Gil Perez.
"That very good," said Gil. "You laugh, I very glad. That tell me is all right." He immediately became serious. "I serve you well, sir, there"s no mistake. I am Gil Perez, too well known to the landlord of this hotel. You see?" He showed his teeth, which were excellent, and he had also, Manvers reflected, shown his hand, for what it was worth--which argued a certain security.
"Gil Perez," he said, on an impulse, "I shall take you at your word.
Do you wait where you are." He turned back into the inn and sought his landlord, who was smoking a cigar in the kitchen while the maids bustled about. From him he learned what there was to be known of Gil Perez; that he was a native of Cadiz who had been valet to an English officer at Gibraltar, followed him out to the Crimea, nursed him through dysentery (of which he had died), and had then begged his way home again to Spain. He had been in Segovia a year or two, acting as guide or interpreter when he could, living on nothing a day mostly and doing pretty well on it.
"He has been in prison, I shall not conceal from your honour," said the landlord. "He stabbed a man under the ribs because he had insulted the English. Gil Perez loves your nation. He considers you to be the natural protectors of the poor. He will serve you well, you may be sure."
"That"s what he told me himself," said Manvers.
The landlord rested his eyes--large, brown and solemn as those of an ox--upon his guest. "He told you the truth, senor. He will serve you better than he would serve me. You will be his G.o.d."
"I hope not," said Manvers, and went out to the door again. Gil Perez, who had been smoking out in the sun, threw his _papelito_ away, stood at attention and saluted smartly.
"What was the name of your English master?" Manvers asked him. Gil replied at once.
""E call Capitan Rodney. Royalorse Artillery. "E say "Gunner." "E was a gentleman, sir."
"I"m sure he was," said Manvers.
"My master espeak very good Espanish. "E say "d.a.m.n your eyes" all the time; and call me "Little devil" just the same. Ah," said Gil Perez, shaking his head. ""E very good gentleman to me, sir--good master. I loved "im. "E dead." For a minute he gazed wistfully at the sky; then, as if to clinch the sad matter, he turned to Manvers. "I bury "im all right," he said briskly, and nodded inward the fact.
Manvers considered for a moment. "I"ll give you," he said, and looked at Gil keenly as he said it, "I"ll give you one _peseta_ a day." He saw his eyes fade and grow blank, though the genial smile hovered still on his lips. Then the light broke out upon him again.
"All right, sir," he said. "I take, and thank you very much."
Manvers said immediately, "I"ll give you two," and Gil Perez accepted the correction silently, with a bow. By the end of the day they were on the footing of friends, but not without one short crossing of swords. After dinner, when Manvers strolled to the door of the inn, he found his guide waiting for him. Gil was in a confidential humour, it seemed.
"You care see something, sir?"
"What sort of a thing, for instance?" he was asked.
Gil Perez shrugged. "What you like, sir." He peered into his patron"s face, and there was infinite suggestion in his next question. "You see fine women?"
Manvers had expected something of the sort and had a steely stare ready for him. "No, thanks," he said drily, and Gil saluted and withdrew.
He was at the door next morning, affable yet respectful, confident in his powers of pleasing, of interesting, of arranging everything; but he never presumed again. He knew his affair.
Three days" sightseeing taught master and man their bearings. Manvers got into the way of forgetting that Gil Perez was there, except when it was convenient to remember him; Gil, on his part, learned to distinguish between his patron"s soliloquies and his conversation. He never made a mistake after the third day. If Manvers, in the course of a ramble, stopped abruptly, buried a hand in his beard and said aloud that he would be shot if he knew which way to turn, Gil Perez watched him closely, but made no remark.