A fortnight had gone by.
Ten o'clock in the morning in the Puerta del Sol, that great plaza in Madrid--the fine square which, like the similarly-named gates at Toledo and Segovia, commands a view of the rising sun, as does the ancient Temple of Abu Simbel on the Nile.
Hugh Henfrey--a smart, lithe figure in blue serge--had been lounging for ten minutes before the long facade of the Ministerio de la Gobernacion (or Ministry of the Interior) smoking a cigarette and looking eagerly across the great square. The two soldiers on sentry at the door, suspicious of all foreigners in the days of Bolshevism and revolution, had eyed him narrowly. But he appeared to be inoffensive, so they had passed him by as a harmless lounger.
Five minutes later a smartly-dressed girl, with short skirt, silk stockings, and a pretty hat, came along the pavement, and Hugh sprang forward to greet her.
It was Lisette, the girl whom he had met when in hiding in that back street in Genoa.
"Well?" he exclaimed. "So here we are! The Sparrow sent me to you."
"Yes. I had a telegram from him four days ago ordering me to meet you. Strange things are happening--it seems!"
"How?" asked the young Englishman, in ignorance of the great conspiracy or of what was taking place. "Since I saw you last, mademoiselle, I have been moving about rapidly, and always in danger of arrest."
"So have I. But I am here at The Sparrow's orders--on a little business which I hope to bring off successfully on any evening. I have an English friend with me--a Mr. Franklyn."
"I left London suddenly. I saw The Sparrow in the evening, and next morning, at eleven o'clock, without even a bag, I left London for Madrid with a very useful passport."
"You are here because Madrid is safer for you than London, I suppose?" said the girl in broken English.
"That is so. A certain Mr. Howell, a friend of The Sparrow's suggested that I should come here," Hugh explained. "Ever since we met in Italy I have been in close hiding until, by some means, my whereabouts became known, and I had to fly."
The smartly-dressed girl walked slowly at his side and, for some moments, remained silent.
"Ah! So you have met Hamilton Shaw--alias Howell?" she remarked at last in a changed voice. "He certainly is not your friend."
"Not my friend! Why? I've only met him lately."
"You say that the police knew of your hiding-place," said mademoiselle, speaking in French, as it was easier for her. "Would you be surprised if Howell had revealed your secret?"