e place without difficulty. There could be no mistaking it--a
large house over against the eastern door of the church of San Ildefonso,
built round a _patio_, or courtyard, after the fashion of Spanish and
South American mansions. Like the church, it seemed to have been much
damaged by the earthquake; the outer walls were cracked, and the gateway
was encumbered with fallen stones.

This surprised me less than may be supposed. Creoles are not remarkable
for energy, and it was quite possible that Senor Ulloa's fortunes might
have suffered as severely from the war as his house had suffered from the
earthquake. But when I entered the _patio_ I was more than surprised. The
only visible signs of life were lizards, darting in and out of their
holes, and a huge rattlesnake sunning himself on the ledge of a broken
fountain. Grass was growing between the stones; rotten doors hung on rusty
hinges; there were great gaps in the roof and huge fissures in the walls,
and when I called no one answered.

"Surely," I thought, "I have made some mistake. This house is both
deserted and ruined."

I returned to the street and accosted a passer-by.

"Is this the house of Don Simon Ulloa?" I asked him.

"_Si, Senor_," he said; and then hurried on as if my question had
half-frightened him out of his wits.

I could not tell what to make of this; but my first idea was that Senor
Ulloa was dead, and the house had the reputation of being haunted. In any
case, the innkeeper had evidently played me a scurvy trick, and I went
back to the _posada_ with the full intention of having it out with him.

"Did you find the house of Don Simon, Senor Fortescue?" he asked when he
saw me.

"Yes, but I did not find him. The house is empty and deserted. What do you
mean by sending me on such a fool's errand?"

"I beg your pardon, senor. You asked me to direct you to Senor Ulloa's
house, and I did so. What could I do more?" And the fellow cringed and
smirked, as if it were all a capital joke, till I could hardly refrain
from pulling his long nose first and kicking him afterwards, but I
listened to the voice of prudence and resisted the impulse.

"You know quite well that I sought Senor Ulloa. Did I not tell you that I
had a letter for him? If you were a caballero instead of a wretched
_posadero_, I would chastise your trickery as it deserves. What has become
of Senor Ulloa, and how comes it that his house is deserted?"

"Senor Ulloa is dead. He was garrot