The judge, in a hurried, perfunctory voice, put questions to the _Lugareño_; the clerk scratched with a large quill on a sheet of paper. “Where do you come from?” “The town of Rio Medio, Excellency.” “Of what occupation?” “Excellency--a few goats....” “Why are you here?” “My daughter, Excellency, married Pepe of the posada in the Calle....” The judge said, “Yes, yes,” with an unsanguine impatience. The _Lugareño’s_ dirty hands jumped nervously on the large rim of his limp hat. “You lodge a complaint against the senor there.” The clerk pointed the end of his quill towards me. “I? God forbid, Excellency,” the _Lugareño_ bleated. “The _Alguazil_ of the Criminal Court instructed me to be watchful.” “You lodge an information, then?” the _juez_ said. “Maybe it is an information, Excellency,” the _Lugareño_ answered, “as regards the senor there.” The _Alguazil_ of the Criminal Court had told him, and many other men of Rio Medio, to be on the watch for me, “undoubtedly touching what had happened, as all the world knew, in Rio Medio.” He looked me full in the face with stupid insolence, and said: “At first I much doubted, for all the world said this man was dead--though others said worse things. Perhaps, who knows?” He had seen me, he said, many times in Rio Medio, outside the Casa; on the balcony of the Casa, too. And he was sure that I was a heretic and an evil person. It suddenly struck me that this man--I was undoubtedly familiar with his face--must be the lieutenant of Manuel-del-Popolo, his boon companion. Without doubt, he had seen me on the balcony of the Casa. He had gained a lot of assurance from the conciliatory manner of the _Juez_, and said suddenly, in a tentative way: “An evil person; a heretic? Who knows? Perhaps it was he who incited some people there to murder his señoria, the illustrious Don.” I said almost contemptuously, “Surely the charge against me is most absurd? Everyone knows who I am.” The old judge made a gentle, tired motion with his hand. “Señor,” he said, “there is no charge against you--except that no one knows who you are. You were in a place where very lamentable and inexplicable things happened; you are now in Havana: you have no passport. I beg of you to remain calm. These things are all in order.” I hadn’t any doubt that, as far as he knew, he was speaking the truth. He was a man, very evidently, of a weary and naïve simplicity. Perhaps it was really true--that I should only have to explain; perhaps it was all over. O’Brien came into the room with the casual step of an official from an office entering another’s room.