him walking down to the landing stage. It seemed that this strange
visitor was about to depart as abruptly as he had come. Conyngham
rose and walked to the edge of the verandah, where he stood watching
the departure of the boat in which his new friend had taken passage.

While he was standing there, the old priest came quietly out of the
open window of the dining room. He saw the letter lying on the
table where Conyngham had left it. He approached, his shabby old
shoes making no sound on the wooden flooring, and read the address
written on the pink and scented envelope. When the Englishman at
length turned, he was alone on the verandah, with the wine bottle,
the empty glasses, and the letter.



CHAPTER V. CONTRABAND.



'What rights are his that dares not strike for them?'

An hour before sunrise two horses stood shuffling their feet and
chewing their bits before the hotel of the Marina at Algeciras,
while their owner, a short and thick-set man of an exaggeratedly
villanous appearance, attended to such straps and buckles as he
suspected of latent flaws. The horses were lean and loose of ear,
with a melancholy thoughtfulness of demeanour that seemed to suggest
the deepest misgivings as to the future. Their saddles and other
accoutrements were frankly theatrical, and would have been at once
the delight of an artist and the despair of a saddler. Fringes and