"Señor Ulloa is dead. He was garroted." "Garroted! What for?" "Treason. There was discovered a compromising correspondence between him and Bolivar. But why ask me? As a friend of Señor Ulloa, you surely know all this?" "I never was a friend of his--never even saw him! I had merely a letter to him from a common friend. But how happened it that Señor Ulloa, who, I believe, was a _correjidor_, entered into a correspondence with the arch-traitor?" "That made it all the worse. He richly deserved his fate. His eldest son, who was privy to the affair, was strangled at the same time as his father; his other children fled, and Señora Ulloa died of grief." "Poor woman! No wonder the house is deserted. What a frightful state of things!" And then, feeling that I had said enough, and fearing that I might say more, I turned on my heel, lighted a cigar, and, while I paced to and fro in the _patio_, seriously considered my position, which, as I clearly perceived, was beginning to be rather precarious. As likely as not the innkeeper would denounce me, and then it would, of course, be very absurd, for I was utterly ignorant, and Zamorra, a Royalist to the bone, must have been equally ignorant that his friend Ulloa had any hand in the rebellion. The mere fact of carrying a harmless letter of introduction from a well-known loyalist to a friend whom he believed to be still a loyalist, could surely not be construed as an offense. At any rate it ought not to be. But when I recalled all I had heard from Moreña, and the stories told me but an hour before by Carera, I thought it extremely probable that it would be, and bitterly regretted that I had not mentioned to the latter Ulloa's name. He would have put me on my guard, and I should not have so fatally committed myself with the _posadero_. But regrets are useless and worse. They waste time and weaken resolve. The question of the moment was, What should I do? How avoid the danger which I felt sure was impending? There seemed only one way--immediate flight. I would go to Carera, tell him all that had happened, and ask him to arrange for my departure from Caracas that very night. I could steal away unseen when all was quiet. "At once," I said to myself--"at once. If I exaggerate, if the danger be not so pressing as I fear, he is just the man to tell me; but, first of all, I will go into my room and destroy this confounded letter. The _posadero_ did not see it. All that he can say is--" "In the king's name!" exclaimed a rough voice behind me; and a heavy hand was laid on my arm. Turning sharply round, I found myself confronted by an officer of police and four alguazils, all armed to the teeth. "I arrest you in the king's name," repeated the officer. "On what charge?" I asked. "Treason. Giving aid and comfort to the king's enemies, and acting as a medium of communication between rebels against his authority."