'You have hold of my leg--you, on the other side,' shouted Conyngham from the turmoil within.

'A thousand pardons, senor!' said the soldier, and took a new grip of another limb.

Concepcion, holding his man under water, heard the sharp crack of another head upon the soldier's kneecap, and knew that all was well.

'That is all?' he inquired.

'That is all,' replied the soldier, who did not seem at all nervous now. 'And we have killed no one.'

'Put a knife into that son of a mule who prays upon the box there,'

said Concepcion judicially. 'This is no time for prayer. Just where the neck joins the shoulder--that is a good place.'

And a sudden silence reigned upon the box.

'Pull the carriage to the bank,' commanded Concepcion. 'There is no need for the English Excellency to wet his feet. He might catch a cold.'

They all made their way to the bank, where, in the dim moonlight, one man sat nursing his shoulder while another lay, at length, quite still, upon the pebbles.

The young soldier laid a second victim to the same deadly trick beside him, while Concepcion patted his foe kindly on the back.

'It is well,' he said, 'you have swallowed water. You will be sick, and then you will be well. But if you move from that spot I will let the water out another way.'

And, laughing pleasantly at this delicate display of humour, he turned to help Conyngham, who was clambering out of the carriage window.

'Whom have you with you?' asked Conyngham.

'Two honest soldiers of General Vincente's division. You see, senor, you have good friends.'

'Yes, I see that.'

'One of them,' said Concepcion meaningly, 'is at Toledo at the moment, journeying after you.

'Ah!'

'The Senor Pleydell.'

'Then we will go back to meet him.'

'I thought so,' said Concepcion.

CHAPTER XXI. A CROSS-EXAMINATION.

'Wherein I am false I am honest--not true to be true.'

'I will sing you a contrabandista song,' said Concepcion, as the party rode towards Toledo in the moonlight. 'The song we--they sing when the venture has been successful. You may hear it any dark night in the streets of Gaucin.'

'Sing,' said the older soldier, 'if it is in your lungs. For us--we prefer to travel silent.'

Conyngham, mounted on the horse from which the Carlist rider had been dragged unceremoniously enough, rode a few paces in front. The carriage had been left behind at the venta, where no questions were asked, and the injured men revived readily enough.

'It is well,' answered Concepcion, in no way abashed. 'I will sing.

In Andalusia we can all sing. The pigs sing better there than the men of Castile.'

It was after midnight when the party rode past the Church of the Cristo de la Vega, and faced the long hill that leads to the gate Del Cambron. Above them towered the city of Toledo--silent and dreamlike. Concepcion had ceased singing now, and the hard breathing of the horses alone broke the silence. The Tagus, emerging here from rocky fastness, flowed noiselessly away to the west--a gleaming ribbon laid across the breast of the night. In the summer it is no uncommon thing for travellers to take the road by night in Spain, and although many doubtless heard the clatter of horses' feet on the polished cobble stones of the city, none rose from bed to watch the hors.e.m.e.n pa.s.s.

At that time Toledo possessed, and indeed to the present day can boast of, but one good inn--a picturesque old house in the Plaza de Zocodover, overhung by the mighty Alcazar. Here Cervantes must have eaten and Lazarillo de Tormes no doubt caroused. Here those melancholy men and mighty humorists must have delighted the idler by their talk. Concepcion soon aroused the sleeping porter, and the great doors being thrown open, the party pa.s.sed into the courtyard without quitting the saddle.

'It is,' said Concepcion, 'an English Excellency and his suite.'

'We have another such in the house,' answered the sleepy doorkeeper, 'though he travels with but one servant.'

'We know that, my friend, which is the reason why we patronise your dog-hole of an inn. See that the two Excellencies breakfast together at a table apart in the morning.'

'You will have matters to speak about with the Senor Pleydell in the morning,' said Concepcion, as he unpacked Conyngham's luggage a few minutes later.

'Yes, I should like to speak to Senor Pleydell.'

'And I,' said Concepcion, turning round with a brush in his hand, 'should like a moment's conversation with Senor Larralde.'

'Ah!'

'Yes, Excellency, he is in this matter too. But the Senor Larralde is so modest--so modest! He always remains in the background.'

In the tents of Kedar men sleep as sound as those who lie on soft pillows, and Conyngham was late astir the next morning. Sir John Pleydell was, it transpired, already at his breakfast, and had ordered his carriage for an early hour to take the road to Talavera.

It was thus evident that Sir John knew nothing of the arrival of his fellow-countryman at midnight.

The cold face of the great lawyer wore a look of satisfaction as he sat at a small table in the patio of the hotel and drank his coffee.

Conyngham watched him for a moment from the balcony of the courtyard, himself unseen, while Concepcion stood within his master's bedroom, and rubbed his brown hands together in antic.i.p.ation of a dramatic moment. Conyngham pa.s.sed down the stone steps and crossed the patio with a gay smile. Sir John recognised him as he emerged from the darkness of the stairway, but his face betrayed neither surprise nor fear. There was a look in the grey eyes, however, that seemed to betoken doubt. Such a look a man might wear who had long travelled with a.s.surance upon a road which he took to be the right one, and then at a turning found himself in a strange country with no landmark to guide him.

Sir John Pleydell had always outwitted his fellows. He had, in fact, been what is called a successful man--a little cleverer, a little more cunning than those around him.

He looked up now at Conyngham, who was drawing forward a chair to the neighbouring table, and the cold eye, which had been the dread of many a criminal, wavered.

'The waiter has set my breakfast near to yours,' said Conyngham, unconcernedly seating himself.

And Concepcion in the balcony above cursed the English for a cold- blooded race. This was not the sort of meeting he had antic.i.p.ated.

He could throw a knife very prettily, and gave a short sigh of regret as he turned to his peaceful duties.

Conyngham examined the simple fare provided for him, and then looked towards his companion with that cheerfulness which is too rare in this world; for it is born of a great courage, and outward circ.u.mstances cannot affect it. Sir John Pleydell had lost all interest in his meal, and was looking keenly at Conyngham-- dissecting, as it were, his face, probing his mind, searching through the outward manner of the man, and running helplessly against a motive which he failed to understand.

'I have in my long experience found that all men may be divided into two cla.s.ses,' he said acidly.

'Fools and knaves?' suggested Conyngham.