New-York, without submitting to voluntary self-imprisonment in the city of Mexico.  Was he a fraudulent merchant, or a bank-defaulter?  Good heavens! such gentlemen generally assume such a graceful nonchalance, or else laugh at their little transactions so good-naturedly that such a supposition was ridiculous.  Well, then, perhaps he had had a personal difficulty?  I think that is the phrase, is it not, for sending a fellow-mortal on his last long journey?  What of that? that even would be no reason for concealment, for once in Mexico, what had he to dread?  Thus I went on, tormenting my mind with suppositions and conjectures without end, until at last I resolved to dispel my apparently inextricable tangle of mystery by taking a walk, as soon as I had finished my breakfast.  Accordingly I sallied forth, turned my steps toward the Alameda, and at no great distance from one of the fountains I sat down on a bench, beneath the shade of one of the grand old trees.

II.

’The Alameda, during the early part of the day, is perhaps the most unfrequented spot in the whole city of Mexico; in fact, almost deserted.  It would be, therefore, unsafe to traverse, were it not that the absence of victims insured the stray loiterer against any well-grounded fear of robbers.  Great, therefore, was my surprise at hearing, shortly after I had taken my seat, two persons in animated conversation behind the spot which I had selected.  A thicket of climbing plants and prickly cactuses alone separated me from them; but while it prevented me from catching even a glimpse of their persons, I lost not one word of their conversation.

‘’Pedro,’ said a full, sonorous voice, ’I am by no means satisfied with you.  In the management of this business, you have shown a carelessness that I can not tolerate.  Why, zounds! your acquaintance with Pepito was a most excellent pretext for gaining access to the enemy’s camp.  You might have pretended to be very anxious about Pepito, who I most heartily wish was at the devil, and what could be more natural than going to make inquiry after him?’

‘’Well, General, the fact is this,’ said the invisible individual, who had been addressed as Pedro, ’much as I am attached to Pepito, I am by no means anxious to have a bullet through my brains.’

‘’Bullet through your brains! what do you mean?’

’’Simply what I say.  Now, look here, Senor General, the other day, last Friday, I succeeded in slipping, during the old woman’s absence, to the door of the fellow’s room.  ‘Who is there?’ exclaimed the ‘Inglez,’ in a loud voice, just as I was about to give the third kick at his door.  ’Me, Pedro,’ I replied.  ‘Don’t know you,’ was the answer, ’you must have mistaken the room,’ ‘Not at all, Senor,’ said I, ’I come to seek some tidings of my compadre, Pepito.’  ‘Tidings of Pepito,’ repeated the Inglez, ‘tidings of Pepito—­wait—­’ So I did wait, congratulating myself on the success of my scheme, and handling my knife with a confident expectation of making sure work of my man, when I heard the floor creak, and looking through the key-hole, I saw the confounded Inglez cocking a pistol and putting a fresh cap on it.  And do you know, General, it somehow happened that when he opened the door, I was at the bottom of the stairs.’