"What sayst thou? Hath flown!" shouted Mendoza, jerking him backward to see his face. "The Ñusta hath flown! Whither? Whither, I say!" and Mendoza shook out of him his little remaining breath. "Come, Mendoza, unhand him," said Almagro. "Let him have his wind or he’ll perish undelivered of his information." Mendoza scowled about the room and dashed out, leaving Rogelio with his eyes rolled to the rafters, swinging his head slowly from side to side and waving his arms, apparently in the last stage of asphyxiation. Pizarro ordered his secretary to investigate. Xerez soon returned with confirmation. Shortly Mendoza strode in, his black looks leaving no doubt. The Ñusta had vanished. "Hath the garden been searched?" asked Pizarro. "The guard hath hunted every nook of grounds and buildings," replied the secretary. "Doubtless she went last night with Peralta." "When didst learn of it, Rogelio?" demanded Pizarro, after a moment of silence. The _veedor_ passed his sleeve across his forehead and snuffled, "Just now—just came from her room." Mendoza was upon him again. "Just came from her room!" he thundered. "What devil’s business hadst thou in her room? Didst not swear to keep away until we had played once more? What business, thou lizard?" Rogelio sidled from his seat precipitately and took refuge behind Pizarro before replying. "She’s mine!" he squeaked. "I won her at dice. Pizarro, I claim your protection as a civil officer of the Crown." "With a wife and five small children at home!" added Almagro, with a disagreeable laugh. "Fie, Rogelio!" Rogelio blinked at him viciously, and Pizarro ended the discussion. "You will settle your affairs elsewhere, Señores. This is no place for it." He bowed significantly, and both left the room, the _veedor_ tarrying uncomfortably until Mendoza should be out of the palace. The _veedor_ was quartered with Riquelme a few squares from the plaza. Leaving the palace, he went directly to his house, half expecting Mendoza’s blade between his civil-official ribs at almost any moment. He reached it safely, and sat the greater part of the evening blinking at the light, laboring with a thought. He heard Riquelme come in with companions, and going to the rear of the patio later, roused one of his servants and beckoned him out. "Vilpalca," he said, "dost know Felipillo? Good! Go fetch him." He returned and sat again blinking at the light, slowly rubbing his hands, now chuckling without mirth, now communing with himself in emphatic whispers with many a sniffle interspersed. Within an hour his servant returned, leading Felipillo. The young renegade entered sulkily, twirling his plumed cap and looking shiftily at Rogelio, who greeted him with effusive condescension. "Ah, Felipillo," he twittered; "I am glad to see thee, Felipillo. How hath it gone with thee? Sit, boy, and I’ll pour thee a bit of _chicha_. Here."