Don Señor Ulloa.

So when I returned to the _posada_ I asked the _posadero_ (innkeeper), a
tall Biscayan, with an immensely long nose, a cringing manner, and an
insincere smile, if he would kindly direct me to Señor Ulloa's house.

"_Si, señor_," said the _posadero_, giving me a queer look, and exchanging
significant glances with two or three of his guests who were within
earshot. "_Si, señor_, I can direct you to the house of Señor Ulloa. You
mean Don Simon, of course?"

"Yes. I have a letter of introduction to him."

"Oh, you have a letter of introduction to Don Simon! if you will come into
the street I will show you the way."

Whereupon we went outside, and the _posadero_, pointing out the church of
San Ildefonso, told me that the large house over against the eastern door
was the house I sought.

"_Gracias, señor_," I said, as I started on my errand, taking the shady
side of the street and walking slowly, for the day was warm.

I walked slowly and thought deeply, trying to make out what could be the
meaning of the glances which the mention of Señor Ulloa's name had evoked,
and there was a nameless something in the _posadero's_ manner I did not
like. Besides being cringing, as usual, it was half mocking, half
menacing, as if I had said, or he had heard, something that placed me in
his power.