ever was
on sea or land? Or in the sedan chair? Or were their faces to be
discovered, as in the puzzle pictures, in the dappling of the horse's
flanks, or the convolutions of the pillars which supported the terrace
roof, or the gilded ornamentations of the chair itself? Hillyard was
speculating for the twentieth time on these important matters with a
vague hope that one day the door of the sedan chair would open, when
another door opened--the door of the restaurant. A sharp-visaged man
with a bald forehead, a clerk, one would say, or a commercial traveller,
looked round the room and went forward to Hillyard's table. He went
quite openly.

The two men shook hands, and the new-comer seated himself in front of
Hillyard.

"You will take coffee and a cigar?" Hillyard asked in Spanish, and gave
the order to the waiter.

The two men talked of the heat, the cinematograph theatres at the side
of the Plaza, the sea-bathing at Caldetas, and then the sharp-faced man
leaned forward.

"Ramon says there is no truth in the story, senor."

Hillyard struck a match and held it to his companion's cigar.

"And you trust Ramon, Senor Baeza?"

Lopez Baeza leaned back with a gesture of unqualified assent.

"As often and often you can trust the peasant of my country," he said.

Hillyard agreed with a nod. He gazed about the room.

"There is no one interesting here to-night," he said idly.

"No," answered Lopez Baeza. "The theatres are closed, the gay people
have gone to St. Sebastian, the families to the seaside. Ouf, but it is
hot."

"Yes."

Hillyard dropped his voice to a whisper and returned to the subject of
his thoughts.

"You see, my friend, it is of so much importance that we should make no
mistake here."

"_Claro!_" returned Lopez Baeza. "But listen to me, senor. You know that
our banks are behind the times and our post offices not greatly trusted.
We have therefore a class of messengers."

Hillyard nodded.

"I know of them."

"Good. They are not educated. Most of them can neither read nor write.
They are simply peasants. Yet they are trusted to carry the most
important letters and great sums of money in gold and silver from place
to place. And never do they betray their trust. It is unknown. Why,
senor, I know myself of cases where rich men have entrusted their
daughters to the care of the messengers, sure that in this way their
daughters will arrive safely at their destination."

"Yes," said Hillyard. "I kno