e
we're at dinner."

They left Roddy on his knees, busily plying his oil-can, and crossed
the garden. In the _patio_ they found the table ready for dinner, and
two lamps casting a cheerful light upon the white cloth and flashing
from the bottle of red Rioja.

As they seated themselves, one of the stray bullets that were singing
above the housetops dislodged a tile, and the pieces of red clay fell
clattering into the court-yard. Peter reached for the claret and, with
ostentatious slowness, filled McKildrick's glass.

"Dynasties may come," he said, "and dynasties may go; but I find one
always dines."

"Why not?" replied McKildrick. "Napoleon said an army is a collection
of stomachs. Why should you and I pretend to be better soldiers than
Napoleon's?"

As a signal to the kitchen he clapped his hands; but the servant who
answered came not from the kitchen, but from the street. His yellow
skin was pale with fright. He gasped and pointed into the shadow at a
soldier who followed him. The man wore the uniform of a hospital
steward and on his arm the badge of the Red Cross. He stepped forward
and, glancing with concern from Peter to McKildrick, saluted
mechanically.

"Doctor Vicenti!" he exclaimed; "he wishes to see you. He is outside
on a stretcher. We are taking him to the hospital, but he made us
bring him here first." The man shook his head sharply. "He is dying!"
he said.

In this sudden threat of disaster to their plan the thought of both
the conspirators was first for Rojas.

"My God!" cried Peter, and stared helplessly at the older man.

"Dying?" protested McKildrick. "I saw him an hour ago; he was----"

"He was caring for the wounded in the streets. He was shot," answered
the man gravely, laying his finger on his heart, "here!"

"Caring for the wounded!" cried McKildrick. "Why in hell wasn't
he----"

"Be quiet!" warned Peter.

McKildrick checked himself and, followed by Peter, ran to the street.
In the light from the open door he saw an army stretcher, and on it a
figure of a man covered with a blanket. An officer and the soldiers
who had borne the stretcher stood in the shadow. With an exclamation
of remorse and sympathy, McKildrick advanced quickly and leaned
forward. But the man on the stretcher was not Vicenti. To make sure,
McKildrick bent lower, and in an instant the stranger threw out his
arms and, clasping him around the neck, dragged him down. At the same
moment the stretcher bearers fell up