"Surely."
"A single sailing-felucca beached at one o'clock in the morning on the flat sand close to Benicassim."
José Medina did not answer. But the doubt which his politeness could not quite keep out of his face was changing into perplexity. This history of his first cargo so far was true.
"That was more than thirteen years ago," Hillyard continued. "Thirteen years last April."
José Medina nodded. Date, place, hour, all were correct. His eyes were fixed curiously upon his visitor, but there was no recognition in them.
"There were two carts waiting, to carry the tobacco up to the hills."
"Two?" José Medina interrupted sharply. "Let me think! That first cargo! It is so long ago."
Medina reflected carefully. Here was a detail of real importance which would put this Señor Hillyard to the test—if only he could himself remember. It was his first venture, yes! But there had been so many like to it since. Still—the very first. He ought to remember that! And as he concentrated his thoughts the veil of the years was rent, and he saw, he saw quite clearly the white moonlit beach, the felucca with its mast bent like a sapling in a high wind, and the great yard of the sail athwart the beam of the boat, the black shadow of it upon the sand, and the carts—yes, the carts!
"There were two carts," he agreed, and a change was just faintly audible in his voice—a change for which up till now Hillyard had listened with both his ears in vain. A ring of cordiality, a suggestion that the barriers of reserve were breaking down.
"Yes, señor, there were two carts."