Marcos’ window was shut, which meant that he was not there.  When he was at home his window stood open by night or day, winter or summer.

Juanita returned to Sarrion’s room, which was next to her own.  The window was ajar.  The Spaniards have the habit of the open air more than any other nation of Europe.  She pushed the window open.

“Uncle Ramon,” she whispered.  But Sarrion was asleep.  She went into the room, which was large and sparsely furnished, and, finding the bed, shook him by the shoulder.

“Uncle Ramon,” she said, “Perro has come back ... alone.”

“That is nothing,” he replied, reassuringly, at once.  “Marcos, no doubt, sent him home.  Go back to bed.”

She obeyed him, going slowly back to the open window.  But she paused there.

“Listen,” she said, with an uneasy laugh.  “He has something on his mind.  He is whimpering.  That is why I woke you.”

“He often whimpers when Marcos is away.  Tell him to be quiet, and then go back to bed,” said Sarrion.

She obeyed him, setting the window and the jalousie ajar after her as she had found them.  But Sarrion did not go to sleep again.  He listened for some time.  Perro was still pattering to and fro on the terrace, giving from time to time his little plaint of uneasiness between his closed teeth.

At length Sarrion rose and struck a light.  It was one o’clock.  He dressed quickly and noiselessly and went down-stairs, candle in hand.  The stable at Torre Garda stands at the side of the house, a few feet behind it against the hillside.  In this remote spot, with but one egress to the outer world, bolts and locks are not considered a necessity of life.  Sarrion opened the door of the house where the grooms and their families lived, and went in.

In a few moments he returned to the stable-yard, accompanied by the man who had driven Juanita and Cousin Peligros from Pampeluna a few hours earlier.  Together they got out the same carriage and a pair of horses.  By the light of a stable lantern they adjusted the harness.  Then Sarrion returned to the house for his cloak and hat.  He brought with him Marcos’ rifle which stood in a rack in the hall and laid it on the seat of the carriage.  The man was already on the box, yawning audibly and without restraint.

As Sarrion seated himself in the carriage he glanced upwards.  Juanita was standing on the balcony, at the corner by Marcos’ window, looking down at him, watching him silently.  Perro was already out of the gate in the darkness, leading the way.

They were not long absent.  Perro was no genius, but what he did know, he knew thoroughly, which for practical purposes is almost as good.  He led them to the spot little more than three miles down the valley, where Marcos lay at the side of the road, which is white and dusty.  It was quite easy to perceive the dark form lying there, and Perro’s lean limbs shaking over it.