"In the garden, also. He cli-cli-climbed over the wall."

Dona Perfecta explored the darkness with her wrathful eyes. Rage gave
them the singular power of seeing in the dark peculiar to the feline
race.

"I see a figure there," she said. "It is going toward the oleanders."

"It is he!" cried Remedios. "But there comes Ramos--Ramos!"

The colossal figure of the Centaur was plainly distinguishable.

"Toward the oleanders, Ramos! Toward the oleanders!"

Dona Perfecta took a few steps forward. Her hoarse voice, vibrating with
a terrible accent, hissed forth these words:

"Cristobal, Cristobal--kill him!"

A shot was heard. Then another.



CHAPTER XXXII

CONCLUSION

From Don Cayetano Polentinos to a friend in Madrid: