But though the fellow would no doubt accept my money, what security had I that he would keep his word?
And how, even if he were to leave the door open, should I evade the vigilance of the sentries and the soldiers who were always loitering in the _patio_?
On the whole, I thought the best thing I could do was to wait quietly until the morrow.

The night is often fruitful in ideas.

I might be acquitted, after all, and if I attempted to bribe the turnkey before my examination, and he should betray me to his superiors, my condemnation would be a foregone conclusion.

The mere attempt would be regarded as an admission of guilt.
A while later, the zambo turnkey (half Indian, half negro) brought me my evening meal--a loaf of bread and a small bottle of wine--and I studied his countenance closely.

It was both treacherous and truculent, and I felt that if I trusted him he would be sure to play me false.
As it was near sunset I asked for a light, and tried to engage him in conversation.