"The senor has the permission of the tribunal to see a priest in his own room." So we entered the prison together, and the captain, having given the necessary instructions to the turnkey, we were conducted to my room.
"When you have done," he said, "knock at the door, and I will come and let you out." "Good! But you need not wait.

I shall not be ready for half an hour or more." As the key turned in the lock, the _soi-disant_ friar threw back his cowl.
"Now, Senor Fortescue," he said, with a laugh, "I am ready to hear your confession." "I confess that I feel as if I were in purgatory already, and I shall be uncommonly glad if you can get me out of it." "Well, purgatory is not the pleasantest of places by all accounts, and I am quite willing to do whatever I can for you.

By way of beginning, take this ointment and smear your face and hands therewith." "Why ?" "To make you look swart and ugly, like the zambo." "And then ?" "And then?
When the turnkey comes back we shall overpower, bind, and gag him--if he resists, strangle him.

Then you will put on his clothes and don his sombrero, and as the moon rises late, and the prison is badly lighted, I have no doubt we shall run the gauntlet of the guard without difficulty....

That is a splendid ointment.