"Dig here," said he
suddenly. "Yes, dig here," said the meiga. The masons labour, the
floor is broken up, - a horrible and fetid odour arises. . . .
Enough; no treasure was found, and my warning to the unfortunate
Swiss turned out but too prophetic. He was forthwith seized and
flung into the horrid prison of Saint James, amidst the execrations
of thousands, who would have gladly torn him limb from limb.
The affair did not terminate here. The political opponents of the
government did not allow so favourable an opportunity to escape for
launching the shafts of ridicule. The Moderados were taunted in
the cortes for their avarice and credulity, whilst the liberal
press wafted on its wings through Spain the story of the treasure-
hunt at Saint James.
"After all, it was a trampa of Don Jorge's," said one of my
enemies. "That fellow is at the bottom of half the picardias which
happen in Spain."
Eager to learn the fate of the Swiss, I wrote to my old friend Rey
Romero, at Compostella. In his answer he states: "I saw the Swiss
in prison, to which place he sent for me, craving my assistance,
for the sake of the friendship which I bore to you. But how could
I help him? He was speedily after removed from Saint James, I know
not whither. It is said that he disappeared on the road."
Truth is sometimes stranger than fiction.
