The old Spaniard slowly unfolded his cloak, betraying the shabbiness
of its crimson plush lining. He lighted a cigarette, and then the
national sense of politeness prevailed against personal feeling.

"His Excellency knows Gibraltar?"

"I have been there."

"Nothing more?"

"Nothing more."

"Pardon me," said the old man, with a grave bow. "I thought--the
Spanish of His Excellency misled me."

The Englishman laughed quietly. "You took me for a scorpion," he
said. "I am not that. I learnt your language here and in the
mountains of Andalusia."

"Then, I beg the pardon of His Excellency."

Cartoner made a Spanish gesture with his hand and shoulders,
indicating that no such pardon was called for.

"Like you," he said, "I do not love the Scorpion."

The Spaniard's eyes lighted up with a gleam which was hardly
pleasant to look upon.