As idea after idea swept across his brain, Dick stared helplessly at the blank walls about him. What could he do? He jumped back into the street and hesitated. No clue here—only the doors of closed stores and sightless walls—a pit of gloom.
Suddenly he heard voices, and leaped into action. At the corner of the street there, under that lantern, was a wine-shop, the only living thing in this dead street. He ran toward it, kicked the door open, and almost fell on top of Domingo, the night watchman.
"Where is your mistress?"
Domingo, taken aback, mumbled indistinctly. He thought that the señorita had returned to Lima as usual with the señor. The motor had gone by just a little while ago.
"What motor?"
Domingo shrugged his shoulders. There were not so many motors as all that in Callao and Lima.
"Who was driving?"
"The boy."
"Libertad?"
"Si, señor, Libertad."
"Did he say anything to you as he went past?"
"No, señor, he did not see me."
"Did you see your mistress?"
