as you say, know the
room where Don Gregorio is most likely to keep his chest. You must lead
us straight for that."

"But, Francisco," whispers Calderon in the ear of his confederate, after
drawing him a little apart from the other two; "about the _ninas_? You
don't intend anything with them?"

"Certainly not--not to-night; nor in this fashion. I hope being able to
approach _them_ in gentler guise, and more becoming time. When they're
without a _peso_ in the world, they'll be less proud; and may be
contented to stay a little longer in California. To-night we've enough
on our hands without thinking of women. One thing at a time--their
money first--themselves afterwards."

"But suppose they should recognise us?"

"They can't. Disguised as we are, I defy a man's mother to know him.
If they did, then--"

"Then what?"

"No use reflecting what. Don't be so scared, man! If I'd anticipated
any chance of its coming to extremes of the kind you're pondering upon,
I wouldn't be here prepared for only half measures. Perhaps we sha'n't
even wake the ladies up; and if we do, there's not the slightest danger
of our being known. So make your mind easy, and let's get through with
it. See! Diaz and Rocas are getting impatient! We must rejoin them,
and proceed to business at once."

The four housebreakers again set their heads together; and after a few
whispered words, to settle all particulars about their plan of
proceeding, advance towards the door.

Once up to it, they stand close in, concealed by its o'ershadowing arch.

With the butt of his pistol, De Lara knocks.

Diaz, unknown to the family, and therefore without fear of his voice
being recognised, is to do the talking.

No one answers the knock; and it is repeated. Louder, and still louder.

The sexagenarian janitor sleeps soundly to-night, thinks De Lara,
deeming it strange.

Another "rat-at-tat" with the pistol-butt, followed by the usual
formulary:

"_Ambre la puerta_!"

At length comes a response from within; but not the customary "_Quen
es_?" nor anything in Spanish. On the contrary, the speech which
salutes the ears of those seeking admission is in a different tongue,
and tone altogether unlike that of a native Californian.

"Who the old scratch are ye?" asks a voice from inside, while a heavy
footstep is heard coming along the _saguan_. Before the startled
burglars can shape a reply, the voice continues:

"Damn ye! What d'ye want anyh