attention of the simple peasants by handling a live snake or a
crocodile which they allowed to crawl upon their shoulders.

Conyngham lingered in the crowd, which was orderly enough, and
amused himself by noting the credulity of the country folk, until
his attention was attracted by a solemn procession passing up the
market-place behind the tents. He inquired of a bystander what this
might be.

'It is the police carrying to his apartment the body of Colonel
Monreal, who was murdered this afternoon in the Plaza Mayor,' was
the answer.

Conyngham made his way between two tents to the deserted side of the
market-place, and, running past the procession, reached the barber's
shop before it. In answer to his summons a girl came to the door of
the Colonel's apartment. She was weeping and moaning in great
mental distress.

Without explanation Conyngham pushed past her into the room where he
had deposited the letter. The room was in disorder, and no letter
lay upon the table.

'It is,' sobbed the girl, 'my husband, who, having heard that the
good Colonel had been murdered, stole all his valuables and papers
and has run away from me.'



CHAPTER XI. A TANGLED WEB.