'I have a letter to General Vincente, and must go to Ronda as soon
as possible. These are stirring times in Spain.'

The man's bland face suddenly assumed an air of cunning, and he
glanced over his shoulder to see that none overheard.

'Your Excellency is right,' he answered. 'But for such as myself
one side is as good as another--is it not so? Carlist or Christino-
-the money is the same.'

'But here in the South there are no Carlists.'

'Who knows?' said the innkeeper with outspread hands. 'Anything
that his Excellency requires shall be forthcoming,' he added
grandiosely. 'This is the dining-room, and here at the side a
little saloon where the ladies sit. But at present we have only
gentlemen in the hotel--it being the winter time.'

'Then you have other guests?' inquired Conyngham.

'But. . . yes--always. In Algeciras there are always travellers.
Noblemen--like his Excellency--for pleasure. Others--for commerce,
the Government--the politics.'

'No flies enter a shut mouth, my friend,' said a voice at the door,
and both turned to see standing in the doorway the priest who had
witnessed Conyngham's arrival.

'Pardon, senor,' said the old man, coming forward with his shabby