"Thank you, I don't want any, senor," was the answer, shortly spoken, as though to close the conversation.
"Ah well, I suppose you've no King to ransom," I returned, and laughed pleasantly; but as the laugh ended, I looked again at him meaningly; and then surprise and question showed on his face.
"Do you travel in this?" he asked, sharply.
"Yes, my name's Hunter, David Hunter, of the great lace firm of Ross and Catter, of London. Here's my card;" and I handed him one; I said this for the benefit of the rest of the people in the carriage who were listening. "If you care about such things, I can find you something of interest."
"I don't, thank you, Senor Hunter. Odd time for such business, I should think," and he returned the card.
"Depends on the business, of course," said I, "and of course on the man. I'm going to Daroca; and expect to do a good stroke there," and while I was speaking, I wrote on the back of the card: "Counting all Renegades lovers of Satan. By the Grace of God;" and covering it with a piece of lace, I handed it to him again. "Now, there's something you might care to see."
The start he gave caused him to let his cigarette fall, and as he stooped down to recover it, he whispered for me to hear—
"By the Grace of God," and when he sat up his face was set like steel in his sudden excitement. He muttered a word to his companion and passed him the card. He in his turn was scarcely less excited.
"It's quite a unique pattern. Very rare;" I said; and when he returned me the lace and card, I scribbled hurriedly my name, "Ferdinand Carbonnell;" and as they read it our eyes met.
"You are right, senor. We have never seen anything like it before, and are more glad than we can tell you to have seen it to-day."