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

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

"_Si, Señor_," 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 Señor
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, Señor 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, señor. You asked me to direct you to Señor 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 Señor 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 Señor Ulloa, and how comes it that his house is deserted?"

"Señor Ulloa is dead. He was garroted."