"Quick," she breathed in his ear. "There is a niche where we can hide
a few yards back. If he follows the other wall he might pass, and not
notice."
"But he goes to your cell; 'tis Pasqual Mendez."
"I know, but come. He must not go there. I will tell you my plan."
They were pressed back within the slight recess before the Mexican
turned the corner, and she had hastily breathed her desperate scheme.
"It can be done," she insisted, "and there is nought else possible. We
dare not let him enter, and find Cateras, and to kill the man will
serve no good end. You will not? Then give me the revolver. Good!
Be silent now."
Mendez came down the black passage evidently in rare good humour,
humming a tune, with one hand pressed upon the wall to better guide his
movements. So dark it was, even the outlines of his form were
indistinguishable, yet, as he felt no need for caution, it was easy
enough to trace his forward progress. The girl stood erect, the
revolver gripped in one hand, the other pressing back her companion
into the recess.
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