The rain was driving in sheets and he was wet to
the skin when he dropped into the patio; nevertheless he was
laughing to himself. He nimbly scaled the wall, crossed an
inclosure, climbed a second wall, and descended into a dark side
street. Taking advantage of the densest shadows and the numerous
overhanging balconies, he set out at a brisk trot.
A light showed through the barred windows of the Alvarado home,
indicating that the family was in. After some fumbling O'Reilly
laid hold of the latch; then, without knocking, he opened the
front door and stepped in.
He found himself, as he had expected, in the parlor, a high-
ceilinged, sparsely furnished room with a glazed floor of Spanish
mosaics. His sudden appearance threw the occupants into alarm: a
woman cried out sharply; a man whom O'Reilly identified as Ignacio
Alvarado himself leaped to his feet and faced him, exclaiming:
"Who are you?"
"I'm a friend. Don't be alarmed." Johnnie summoned his most
agreeable smile, then he extended the sodden package he had
carried beneath his arm. "I come from your brother Tomas. He asked
me to hand you this book and to say that he is returning it with
his thanks."
"What are you saying?" Plainly the speaker did not comprehend;
there was nothing but apprehension in his voice.
O'Reilly tore the wet paper from the volume and laid it in
Alvarado's hand.
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