"But it was dark, and I could not see much," he added, seeming
unconsciously to answer a question passing in his companion's mind; for
Mon's pleasant eyes were measuring the distance.

"I thought they brought him in here; for before I could descend help
came, and the cutthroats ran away."

"It is like your good, kind heart, my friend, to interest yourself in the
fate of some rake, who was probably tipsy, or else he would not have been
abroad at that hour."

"I had not mentioned the hour."

"One presumes," said Mon, with a short laugh, "that such incidents do not
happen in the early evening. However, let us by all means make inquiries
after your dissipated protege."

He moved with alacrity to the house, leading the way now.

"By an odd chance," said Sarrion, following him more slowly, "I have
conceived the idea that this man is an old friend of mine."

"Then, my good Ramon, he must be an old friend of mine, too."

"Francisco de Mogente."

Mon stopped with a movement of genuine surprise, followed instantly by a
quick sidelong glance beneath his lashes.