"Robbery! Murder! Really, my dear friend, these are strange words to me. I was in the street, and one of these men—soldiers in the army of the Marquis of La Romana—told me that an English ruffian—it was a mistake, yes, but he said an English ruffian—had forced himself into this house: for what purpose? It could only be, as you say, to rob or murder. You know what sad excesses your troops, usually so excellently disciplined, have been guilty of; and having but a short time ago heard that your colonel—Beckwith, is that his name?—had sternly ordered his men to refrain from acts of pillage, why, my dear friend, was it not natural for me to come in and do what little I could to prevent such admirable orders from being disobeyed? That explains—" "Oh!" said Jack. "And your man—was that his errand too?" "Perez? Oh no! He obtained my permission to visit his old master, the faithful fellow. It was inconvenient, for we should now be on the road; but could I—would you?—hesitate in such a case? I was touched by the poor fellow’s devotion." Perez’ solitary eye gleamed with a baleful light singularly out of keeping with the sentimental character thrust upon him by his master. He wriggled venomously in Bates’s grasp. The burly Rifleman checked his contortions by impressing his knuckles into the nape of his neck. Jack turned to the old man, who had watched the scene in dignified silence. "I think, Señor, you can throw some light on this man’s devotion." The Spaniard, in a few quiet words, told Jack that the man had, in fact, been his servant, but had been dismissed two years before for attempted robbery. He had suddenly made his appearance that evening, taken his old master unawares, and when he had bound him had broken open the bureau containing, as he supposed, the valuables he coveted, and, failing to find them, had demanded the secret of their hiding-place under threat of assassination. "I owe my life," he concluded, "the little that remains of it, to my son here, who providentially overheard from his bedroom above the threats of this wretch, and to you, Señor, whose chivalrous intervention came at a moment when I regarded my case as hopeless. I thank you!" "This, Señor," said Miguel, turning to the old man, "is to me a most extraordinary, a most painful, discovery. The man was recommended to me by Señor Alvarez, my father’s partner"—Miguel’s fluency in his present predicament recalled to Jack’s memory many of his youthful essays in mendacity. "It only shows, Señor, how sadly one may be deceived by a specious exterior." As he spoke he regarded his one-eyed follower with a look of mournful disappointment. If Perez’ exterior at this moment was any index to his quality, he was scarcely a man in whom the most credulous would have placed confidence. In Bates’s iron grip his body was quiescent; but the malignant glitter of his single eye told of raging fires within.