The court—for it was a court, duly organized and sworn, albeit summarily—first examined the apartment with minuteness and deliberation. The secretary recorded its findings. The fetters were inspected, and the conclusion was arrived at, agreed to, and set down, that they had been undone by a file or similar instrument. Thereupon the tribunal proceeded to interrogate those suspected of complicity. First came Pedro. After him would come the sentinel found drunk on post, the two artificers who had been at work on the fastenings of the door, and others. Thus far the process had been carried on with dignity and order. Now Rogelio, who, with Riquelme, was to conduct the examination, prepared to begin, swelling himself pompously, pursing his lips, puffing his cheeks, and rolling his eyes from one to another of the court, until Riquelme exclaimed impatiently: "_Infierno_! Commence, _Veedor_, before the morning is spent!" Rogelio opened his mouth at him, then turned to Pedro. "Prisoner," he piped. Pedro made no sign of hearing him. "Prisoner!" he repeated, and Pedro looked up, scowling. "Ho! Art addressing me, _Veedor_? Then change my title. I am a cook. A cook, look thou! A cook bereft, plundered, despoiled, and ravished of a leg! Pray, hast seen it—my missing member?" Rogelio hesitated, snuffled, and with dignity began again. "Prisoner—" "Cook, I tell thee!" Pedro interrupted, explosively. "Thy prisoner hath flown—flown with three legs, one a stolen, and that one mine—not my best, in truth, only my second best; but nevertheless most grievously wanted. Hast seen it, Veedor?" Rogelio’s mind was not alert. It could pursue a single line of thought with a sort of porcine tenacity, but the intrusion of a second idea produced derangement requiring time to readjust. His attention, now drawn to Pedro’s lost peg and his uncanny-looking stump, was not readily disengaged. He stood surveying the cook’s maimed member with fascination until in the slow revolution of his thoughts they should come back to their former connection. This achieved, he began again. "Prisoner—" "Cook!" shouted Pedro, jerking himself erect and glaring at the _veedor_. The latter stopped, and Pizarro interfered. "Be done, Pedro!" he commanded, angrily. "Cease interruptions and allow the _veedor_ to proceed. Continue, _Veedor_." "Prisoner!" squeaked the _veedor_. "Cook!" roared Pedro, savagely. "Oh, in the devil’s name, let him have his way!" Almagro broke in. "Call him cook—anything—but begin, Rogelio!" "Well—cook," said Rogelio, wiping his forehead, "thou art charged with having guilty knowledge of the means whereby the late prisoner, Cristoval de Peralta, hath effected his escape."