Poor Jack Hall lying there in his naval uniform, with his epaulette torn off, and his throat literally cut from ear to ear! He had found his way here before me, and been assassinated. Almost paralysed, I continued for half a minute to gaze at this terrible spectacle, till the paper burned down to my fingers and expired. I heard my heart beating; and my head spun round as I tightened my belt and grasped my loaded rifle. Before I could adopt any plan of operations, I heard a rustling and whispering in the passage near my door; and, looking through a crack in the panels, saw, within a yard of me, Martin Secco, bearing in one hand the rifle of my poor friend, and in the other a lighted candle, although he had made to me so many apologies, about two hours before, for not having another in the house. As he approached, he handed it to a boy, in whom I discovered Pedrillo; and then the light flashed upon two other men, in one of whom I recognised the ostler, and in the other, our acquaintance of the noon, with the patch on his face, and wearing the green velvet jacket and sombrero. This worthy had a pistol in one hand and a knife in the other. The patrona was also there, with her wolfish eyes and enormous Basque queue. Outrage and assassination were impressed on the hard lines of all their cruel and savage visages; and I perceived at once that without a vigorous effort I was lost--that my life was forfeited; and all the anticipations of newspaper paragraphs; "a mysterious disappearance" in the "Times" and "Military Gazette," flashed upon my mind. I had youth, a noble profession, many kind friends, my regiment, and home, with "the best of expectations," as old dowagers say, on one hand; a horrible and sudden death--a lonely scene of unknown butchery, on the other! I cocked the locks of my rifle, and resolutely removed the barricade from the door. "Take time, Juan Roa," said the patrona. "Hold your tongue, old perra; I know well enough what I am doing," growled the personage in green, whom I now knew to be that terrible outlaw, who since the Carlist war, had laughed at the carabineros and alguazils, and kept all Malaga, the Sierra de Mija, and the Vega of Granada astir and in terror. Including the patrona, and the treacherous young rascal Pedrillo, I had five desperate enemies, and only two bullets at their service. "Let us prove whether the Inglese is asleep, before we enter," said the patron, knocking at the door gently, and placing the candle behind him. "No answer--he is certainly asleep," whispered the patrona. "Knock again," growled Juan Roa. A smart blow was then given; but still I made no reply. Then the patron applied his hand to the latch; but before he could open the door, I fired right through the slender panels, and shot him dead by one bullet, knocking over the ostler by the other, which he received through his neck and shoulder.