ed away to greet the manager of the _Daily Harpoon_,
who was at that moment shaking hands with Hardiman.

"I congratulate you," said Stella Croyle, as she gave him her hand.

"Thank you. So you know Sir Chichester well?"

"His wife has been a friend of mine for a long time." Her eyes twinkled.
"I wonder you have not been seen at his house."

"Oh, I am only just hatched out," said Hillyard. They both laughed. "I
hardly know a soul here except my leading lady and our host."

They were summoned to the supper table. Hillyard found himself with the
leading lady on one side of him and Stella Croyle opposite, and Mario
Escobar a couple of seats away. Supper was half through when Escobar
leaned suddenly forward.

"Mr. Hillyard, I have seen you before, somewhere and not in England."

"That is possible."

"In Spain?"

"Yes," answered Hillyard.

A certain curiosity in Escobar's voice, a certain reticence in
Hillyard's, arrested the attention of those about.

"Let me see!" continued Escobar. "It was in the Opera House at Barcelona
on the first performance of Manon Lescaut."

"No," replied Hillyard.

"Then--I know--it was under the palm-trees in front of the sea at
Alicante one night."

Hillyard nodded.

"That may well have been. I was up and down the south coast of Spain for
three years. Eighteen months of it were spent at Alicante."

He turned to his neighbour, but Escobar persisted.

"It was for your health?"

Hillyard did not answer directly.

"My lungs have always been my trouble," he said.

Hardiman bent towards Stella Croyle.

"I think our new friend has had a curious life, Stella. He should
interest you."

Stella Croyle replied with a shrewd look towards the Spaniard.

"At present he is interesting Escobar. One would say Escobar was
suspicious lest Mr. Hillyard should know too much of him."

Sir Charles laughed.

"The Mario Escobars are always suspicious. Let us see!" he said in a low
voice, and leaning across the table, he shot a question sharply at the
Spaniard.

"And what were you doing under the palm trees, in front of the sea at
Alicante, Senor Escobar?"

Mario Escobar sat back. The challenge had startled him. He reflected,
and as the recollection came he turned slowly very white.

"I?" he asked.

"Yes," said Hardiman, leaning forward. But it was not at Hardiman that
Escobar was looking. His eyes were fixed warily on Hillyard. He answered
the question warily too, fragment by fragme