s too good for the
neighbourhood. Of course he told me he had rich customers, and it was
jolly lucky I'd been fagging up Spanish for Pilar's sake, or I should have
missed a lot, right there. I soon got him on the subject of the herb
doctor, his best client, who, though supposed to be well-off, and living
in a good house, did all his shopping himself and kept no servants. Nobody
knew much about him, except what he said of himself; that he could set
bones, and was able to make as much money as he liked, selling his herb
medicines to great personages. Who were the great personages? The baker
couldn't tell; but the doctor had lived in his present house for years,
after taking it when in a bad state of repair, and having it done up
inside by workmen he brought from Madrid. From that day on, no one the
baker knew had ever been invited in, though he'd heard stories of veiled
ladies, and sounds of music at night.

"At that, the thought jumped into my mind that maybe the house was
Carmona's, a little secret plaything of his. And I remembered reading
about a famous old palace in the Albaicin with an underground way to the
Alhambra. Why shouldn't there be such a way from Carmona's palace to the
doctor's house? And what a convenient place it would be to keep a
troublesome person."

"Or to kill one," I amended.

"I thought of that; but I hoped. People don't commit murder when their
blood is cool if they can get what they want cheaper. I went again to the
police, said I believed that my friend was detained against his will in
the house of Doctor Molina. But when they wanted my reasons I couldn't
give any to convince them. They thought I was mad, and refused to search.
I was afraid they'd warn the old chap to look out for a crazy American, so
I hurried up and took matters into my own hands.

"I wasn't sure enough of anything to jump on the man outside his own door
and do the burglar act openly, lest the police should jump on _me_, and I
should be laid by before I'd found you. But about that time I began to
have water on the brain; or rather, I got possessed with the idea of
sneaking into houses by means of conduits; and no wonder, when the whole
Albaicin is honeycombed with watercourses, gluddering and gurgling from
morning till night.

"In the next street to this, there's a Moorish house of much the same
sort, being torn down. They were selling old tiles to curiosity dealers
one day, so I strolled into the _patio_. The pavement