quietly. 'You say you followed me because you wanted that letter.
It is not in my possession. I left it in the house of Colonel
Monreal at Xeres. If you are going on to Madrid, I think I will sit
down here and have a cigarette. If, on the other hand, you propose
resting here, I shall proceed, as it is getting late.'

Conyngham looked at his companion with a nod and a smile which was
not in the least friendly and at the same time quite cheerful. He
seemed to recognise the necessity of quarrelling, but proposed to do
so as light-heartedly as possible. They were both on horseback in
the middle of the road, Larralde a few paces in the direction of
Madrid.

Conyngham indicated the road with an inviting wave of the hand.

'Will you go on?' he asked.

Larralde sat looking at him with glittering eyes, and said nothing.

'Then I will continue my journey,' said the Englishman, touching his
horse lightly with the spur. The horse moved on and passed within a
yard of the other. At this moment Larralde rose in his stirrups and
flung himself on one side.

Conyngham gave a sharp cry of pain and threw back his head.
Larralde had stabbed him in the back. The Englishman swayed in the
saddle as if trying to balance himself, his legs bent back from the
knee in the sharpness of a biting pain. The heavy stirrups swung
free. Then, slowly, Conyngham toppled forward and rolled out of the
saddle, falling to the road with a thud.