Mr. Wyman bowed without speaking. Nothing could be gained by dwelling upon this unfortunate occurrence. At this point an aged and decrepit man was led into the room by two soldiers. He was so weak that he had to be supported on either side. General Serano looked up and scowled at him as an intruder, and turned to an aide for an explanation, when the smiling interpreter glided to his side and whispered in his ear. He started back in eager surprise, and then cast another glance of triumph at the consul as he said:
All eyes were now turned on the tottering old man as he was slowly led to a chair which was placed in front of General Serano's desk.
"You have some information in regard to this case which you wish to impart to me?" asked the general.
The old man's dim eyes turned in the direction of the speaker like those of one who is almost blind. He seemed dazed and frightened.
"Well, never mind the case. Were you ever the warden of the jail here?"
"Oh, yes sir, but that was many, many years ago."
"Yes, I know," said the general, coaxingly, "but what do you know about the jail?"
"Nothing much now, sir, not for many, many years."
"No, no, what do you know that no other man now living knows?"
"Much, sir, much, for they have all gone on before."
"Secret? Oh, yes, a secret. No man knows but me, no man knows."
The old man shook his head stupidly, and rubbed his gnarled hands.
"What is the secret?" General Serano leaned forward to catch the answer.
"No, no, you knew it ten minutes ago--think."
"No man knows--they've all gone before," muttered the old man.
Mr. Wyman uttered a sigh of relief. The old jailer evidently knew of the existence of the secret passage, but his mind was so far gone that the consul was hopeful that General Serano's examination might fail.
"Do you know of any secret passage?" asked the general in an insinuating tone.
"Passage--who said passage," said the old man bristling up and looking around the room with unseeing eyes. "There is no passage; it's a lie. No one knows--no one knows but the old jailer."
The interpreter stepped up to the old man and whispered something in his ear. The wrinkled face cracked into a hideous grin that showed his almost toothless gums.
"Money," he chortled, "yes, give me money--gold." He reached out his gnarled hands and grasped at the air. The interpreter at a sign from General Serano, placed a peseta in one of his outstretched palms. He felt it for a moment, and then held it close to his nearly sightless eyes.