undings, I could not conjecture; for the next moment the matador,
taking advantage of the bull's concentration, with a complacent leer at
the audience, advanced toward the paper. But at that instant a young
man cleared the barrier into the arena with a single bound, shoved the
matador to one side, caught up the paper, turned toward the balcony
and Miss Mannersley with a gesture of apology, dropped gaily before the
bull, knelt down before him with an exaggerated humility, and held up
the drawing as if for his inspection. A roar of applause broke from the
audience, a cry of warning and exasperation from the attendants, as the
goaded bull suddenly charged the stranger. But he sprang to one side
with great dexterity, made a courteous gesture to the matador as if
passing the bull over to him, and still holding the paper in his hand,
re-leaped the barrier, and rejoined the audience in safety. I did not
wait to see the deadly, dominant thrust with which the matador received
the charging bull; my eyes were following the figure now bounding up the
steps to the balcony, where with an exaggerated salutation he laid the
drawing in Miss Mannersley's lap and vanished. There was no mistaking
that thin lithe form, the narrow black mustache, and gravely dancing
eyes. The audacity of conception, the extravagance of execution, the
quaint irony of the sequel, could belong to no one but Enriquez.

I hurried up to her as the six yoked mules dragged the carcass of the
bull away. She was placidly putting up her book, the unmoved focus of
a hundred eager and curious eyes. She smiled slightly as she saw me. "I
was just telling Mr. Briggs what an extraordinary creature it was, and
how you knew him. He must have had great experience to do that sort of
thing so cleverly and safely. Does he do it often? Of course, not just
that. But does he pick up cigars and things that I see they throw to the
matador? Does he belong to the management? Mr. Briggs thinks the whole
thing was a feint to distract the bull," she added, with a wicked glance
at the geologist, who, I fancied, looked disturbed.

"I am afraid," I said dryly, "that his act was as unpremeditated and
genuine as it was unusual."

"Why afraid?"

It was a matter-of-fact question, but I instantly saw my mistake. What
right had I to assume that Enriquez' attentions were any more genuine
than her own easy indifference; and if I suspected that they were, was
it fair in me to give my friend away to