"I shall answer our friend Canelo, if you permit me. If the window was
open with the design he has stated, it must of course have been done
from the outside. The pieces of glass then would have fallen _into_ the
chamber; but such is not the case--there they lie on the balcony! It
has been the wind therefore, as his honour the alcalde has reasonably
stated, that has done this business. Unless, indeed," added he, with a
feigned smile, "some trunk carried incautiously past the window might
have struck one of the squares. This may have been--since it appears
the Countess intends a prolonged absence, judging from the effects--
taken with her, as testified by the empty drawers."
The old steward lowered his head at this proof which seemed completely
to falsify his assertion. He did not hear the last observation of
Cagatinta, who was cogitating whether he ought not to exact from the
alcalde something more than the liver-coloured breeches, as a recompense
of this new service he had done him.
While the faithful Don Juan was busy with painful reflections that threw
their shadows upon his bald forehead, the alcalde approached and
addressed him in a voice so low as not to be heard by the others.
"I have been a little sharp with you, Don Juan--I have not sufficiently
taken into account the grief, which you as a loyal servant must feel
under such an unexpected stroke. But tell me! independent of the
chagrin which this affair has caused you, are you not also affected by
some fears about your own future? You are old--weak in consequence--and
without resources?"
"It is just because I am old, and know that I have not long to live,
that I am so little affected. My grief, however," added he with an air
of pride, "is pure and free from all selfishness. The generosity of
Count de Mediana has left me enough to pass the remainder of my days in
tranquillity. But I should pass them all the more happily if I could
only see avenged the lady of my old master."
"I approve of your sentiments, Senor Don Juan! you are doubly estimable
on account of your sorrow, and as to your _savings_--Notary! Senor
Cagatinta!" cried the alcalde, suddenly raising his voice so as to be
heard by all present, "Make out a _proces verbal_--that the Senor Don
Juan Dios Canelo, here present, will become prosecutor in this case. It
cannot be doubted that a crime has been committed; and it is a duty we
owe to ourselves as well as to this respectable man, to seek out and
punish the authors of it."
"But, senor alcalde!" interposed the steward, perfectly stupefied with
this unexpected declaration, "I did not say--I have no intention to
become _prosecutor_."
"Take care, old man!" cried Don Ramon, in a solemn tone; "if you deny
what you have already confided to me, grievous charges may be brought
against you. As friend Cagatinta has just this minute observed to me,
the ladder by which you scaled the balcony might prove sinister designs.
But I know you are incapable of such. Rest contented, then, at being
the accuser in place of the accused. Come, gentlemen! our duty calls us
outside. Perhaps underneath the balcony we may find some traces of this
most mysterious matter."
So saying, the alcalde left the chamber, followed by the crowd.
Poor Don Juan found himself thus unexpectedly between two horns of a
dilemma, the result in either case being the same--that is, the
spoliation of the little _pecadillo_ he had put away against old age.
He shook his head, and with a sublime resignation accepted the voice of
iniquity for that of God--consoling himself with the reflection, that
this last sacrifice might be of some service to the family whose bread
he had so long eaten.
No trace was found under the balcony. As already stated the waves must
have obliterated any footmarks or other vestiges that may have been
left.
It was believed for a while that an important capture had been made, in
the person of a man found lying in a crevice among the rocks. This
proved to be Pepe the Sleeper. Suddenly aroused, the coast-guard was
asked if he had seen or heard anything? No, was the reply, nothing.
But Pepe remembered his full pockets; and fearing that the alcalde might
take a fancy to search him, saw that some _ruse_ was necessary to put an
end to the scene. This he succeeded in doing, by begging the alcalde
for a _real_ to buy bread with!
What was to be done with this droll fellow? The alcalde felt no
inclination to question him farther, but left him to go to sleep again
and sleep as long as he pleased.
Any further investigation appeared to Don Ramon to be useless--at least
until some order might be received from higher quarters--besides it
would be necessary to graduate the expenses of justice to the means of
the prosecutor; and with this reflection, the alcalde went home to his
breakfast.
In the evening of this eventful day for the village of Elanchovi--when
the twilight had fallen upon the water--two persons might have been seen
wandering along the beach, but evidently desirous of shunning one
another. Both appeared in grief, though their sorrows sprang from a
very different cause.
One was a poor old steward, who, while heaving a sigh at the thought
that his worldly store was about to be absorbed in the inexorable gulf
of justice, at the same time searched for some trace of his lost
mistress, praying for her and her child, and calling upon God to take
them under his protection.
The other pensive wanderer was Cagatinta, of whom the alcalde had again
taken the advantage. Profiting by the confidence of the scribe, Don
Ramon had induced the latter to commit his oath to stamped paper; and
then instead of the liver-coloured breeches had offered him an old hat
in remuneration. This Cagatinta had indignantly refused.
He was now lamenting his vanished dreams of ambition, his silly
confidence, and the immorality of false oaths--_not paid for_.
Nevertheless, he was meditating whether it would not be more prudent to
accept the old hat in lieu of the liver-coloured breeches, alas! so well
earned!