"Excellency," he said, "a man called Concepcion Vara, who desires a moment."
"What did I tell you?" said the General to Concha. "Another of Conyngham"s friends. Spain is full of them. Let Concepcion Vara come to this room."
The servant looked slightly surprised, and retired. If, however, this manner of reception was unusual, Concepcion was too finished a man of the world to betray either surprise or embarra.s.sment. By good fortune he happened to be wearing a coat. His flowing unstarched shirt was as usual spotless, he wore a flower in the ribbon of the hat carried jauntily in his hand, and about his person in the form of handkerchief and faja were those touches of bright colour by means of which he so irresistibly attracted the eye of the fair.
"Excellency," he murmured, bowing on the threshold; "Reverendo,"
with one step forward and a respectful semi-religious inclination of the head towards Concha; "Senorita!" The ceremony here concluded with a profound obeisance to Estella full of gallantry and grave admiration. Then he stood upright, and indicated by a pleasant smile that no one need feel embarra.s.sed, that in fact this meeting was most opportune.
"A matter of urgency, Excellency," he said confidentially to Vincente. "I have reason to suspect that one of my friends--in fact, the Senor Conyngham, with whom I am at the moment in service-- happens to be in danger."
"Ah! what makes you suspect that, my friend?"
Concepcion waved his hand lightly, as if indicating that the news had been brought to him by the birds of the air.
"When one goes into the cafe," he said, "one is not always so particular--one a.s.sociates with those who happen to be there-- muleteers, diligencia-drivers, bull-fighters, all and sundry, even contrabandistas."
He made this last admission with a face full of pious toleration, and Father Concha laughed grimly.
"That is true, my friend," said the General, hastening to cover the priest"s little lapse of good manners, "and from these gentlemen-- honest enough in their way, no doubt--you have learnt--?"
"That the Senor Conyngham has enemies in Spain."
"So I understand; but he has also friends?"
"He has one," said Vara, taking up a fine, picturesque att.i.tude, with his right hand at his waist where the deadly knife was concealed in the rolls of his faja.
"Then he is fortunate," said the General, with his most winning smile; "why do you come to me, my friend."
"I require two men," answered Concepcion airily, "that is all."
"Ah! What sort of men. Guardias Civiles?"
"The Holy Saints forbid! Honest soldiers, if it please your Excellency. The Guardia Civil! See you, Excellency."
He paused, shaking his outspread hand from side to side, palm downwards, fingers apart, as if describing a low level of humanity.
"A brutal set of men," he continued; "with the finger ever on the trigger and the rifle ever loaded. Pam! and a life is taken--many of my friends--at least, many persons I have met--in the cafe!"
"It is better to give him his two men," put in Father Concha, in his atrocious English, speaking to the General. "The man is honest in his love of Conyngham, if in nothing else."
"And if I accord you these two men, my friend," said the General, from whose face Estella"s eyes had never moved, "will you undertake that Mr. Conyngham comes to no harm?"
"I will arrange it," replied Concepcion, with an easy shrug of the shoulders. "I will arrange it, never fear."
"You shall have two men," said General Vincente, drawing a writing- case towards himself and proceeding to write the necessary order.
"Men who are known to me personally. You can rely upon them at all times."
"Since they are friends of his Excellency"s," interrupted Concepcion with much condescension, "that suffices."
"He will require money," said Estella in English--her eyes bright and her cheeks flushed. For she came of a fighting race, and her repose of manner, the dignity which sat rather strangely on her slim young shoulders, were only signs of that self-control which had been handed down to her through the ages.
The General nodded as he wrote.
"Take that to headquarters," he said, handing the papers to Concepcion, "and in less than half an hour your men will be ready.
Mr. Conyngham is a friend of mine, as you know, and any expenses incurred on his behalf will be defrayed by myself--"
Concepcion held up his hand.
"It is unnecessary, Excellency," he said. "At present Mr. Conyngham has funds. Only yesterday he gave me money. He liquidated my little account. It has always been a jest between us--that little account."
He laughed pleasantly, and moved towards the door.
"Vara," said Father Concha.
"Yes, reverendo."
"If I meet your wife in Madrid, what shall I say to her?"
Concepcion turned and looked into the smiling face of the old priest.
"In Madrid, reverendo? How can you think of such a thing? My wife lives in Algeciras, and at times, see you--" he stopped, casting his eyes up to the ceiling and fetching an exaggerated sigh, "at times my heart aches. But now I must get to the saddle. What a thing is Duty, reverendo! Duty! G.o.d be with your Excellencies."
And he hurried out of the room.
"If you would make a thief honest, trust him," said Concha, when the door was closed.
In less than an hour Concepcion was on the road accompanied by two troopers, who were ready enough to travel in company with a man of his reputation. For in Spain, if one cannot be a bull-fighter it is good to be a smuggler. At sunset the great heat culminated in a thunderstorm, which drew a veil of heavy cloud across the sky, and night fell before its time.
The hors.e.m.e.n had covered two-thirds of their journey when he whom they followed came in sight of the lights of Toledo, set upon a rock like the jewels in a lady"s ring, and almost surrounded by the swift Tagus. Conyngham"s horse was tired, and stumbled more than once on the hill by which the traveller descends to the great bridge and the gate that Wamba built thirteen hundred years ago.
Through this gate he pa.s.sed into the city, which was a city of the dead, with its hundred ruined churches, its empty palaces and silent streets. Ichabod is written large over all these tokens of a bygone glory; where the Jews flying from Jerusalem first set foot; where the Moor reigned unmolested for nearly four hundred years; where the Goth and the Roman and the great Spaniard of the middle ages have trod on each other"s heels. Truly these worn stones have seen the greatness of the greatest nations of the world.
A single lamp hung slowly swinging in the arch of Wamba"s Gate, and the streets were but ill lighted with an oil lantern at an occasional corner. Conyngham had been in Toledo before, and knew his way to the inn under the shadow of the great Alcazar, now burnt and ruined. Here he left his horse; for the streets of Toledo are so narrow and tortuous, so ill-paved and steep, that wheel traffic is almost unknown, while a horse can with difficulty keep his feet on the rounded cobble stones. In this city men go about their business on foot, which makes the streets as silent as the deserted houses.
Julia had selected a spot which was easy enough to find, and Conyngham, having supped, made his way thither without asking for directions.
"It is at all events worth trying," he said to himself, "and she can scarcely have forgotten that I saved her life on the Garonne as well as at Ronda."
But there is often in a woman"s life one man who can make her forget all. The streets were deserted, for it was a cold night, and the cafes were carefully closed against the damp air. No one stirred in the Calle Pedro Martir, and Conyngham peered into the shadow of the high wall of the Church of San Tome in vain. Then he heard the soft tread of m.u.f.fled feet, and turning on his heel realised Julia"s treachery in a flash of thought. He charged to meet the charge of his a.s.sailants. Two of them went down like felled trees, but there were others--four others--who fell on him silently like hounds upon a fox, and in a few moments all was quiet again in the Calle Pedro Martir.
CHAPTER XX. ON THE TALAVERA ROAD.
"Les barrieres servent a indiquer ou il faut pa.s.ser."