Yes, and a signal that demands an answer. In less time than it takes to tell I slip from my hammock, gather up the pebbles, climb up to the window, and drop them into the street. Then, looking out, I can just discern, deep in the shadow of the building opposite, the figure of a man. He raises his arm; something white flies over my head and falls on the floor. Dropping hurriedly from the grating, I pick up the message-bearing missile--a pebble to which is tied a piece of paper. I can see that the paper contains writing, and climbing a second time up to the grating, I make out by the light of the moonbeams the words: "_If you are condemned, ask for a priest._" My first feeling was one of bitter disappointment. Why should I ask for a priest? I was not a Roman Catholic; I did not want to confess. If the author of the missive was Carera--and who else could it be?--why had he given himself so much trouble to make so unpleasantly suggestive a recommendation? A priest, forsooth! A file and a cord would be much more to the purpose.... But might not the words mean more than appeared? Could it be that Carera desired to give me a friendly hint to prepare for the worst?... Or was it possible that the ghostly man would bring me a further message and help me in some way to escape? At any rate, it was a more encouraging theory than the other, and I resolved to act on it. If the priest did me no good, he could, at least, do me no harm. After tearing up the bit of paper and chewing the fragments, I returned to my hammock and lay awake--sleep being now out of the question--until the turnkey brought me a cup of chocolate, of which, with the remains of the loaf, I made my first breakfast. About the middle of the day he brought me something more substantial. On both occasions I pressed him with questions as to when I was to be examined, and what they were going to do with me, to all of which he answered "_No se_" ("I don't know"), and, probably enough, he told the truth. However, I was not kept long in suspense. Later on in the afternoon the door opened for the third time, and the officer who had arrested me, followed by his alguazils, appeared at the threshold and announced that he had been ordered to escort me to the tribunal. We went in the same order as before; and a walk of less than fifteen minutes brought us to another tumble-down building, which appeared to have been once a court-house. Only the lower rooms were habitable, and at a door, on either side of which stood a sentry, my conductor respectfully knocked. "_Adelante!_" said a rough voice; and we entered accordingly.