“Not yet!” Hitt laid a hand upon his. “Where is he?” he demanded in a low voice.
“In San Fernando, señor.”
“And how long?”
“A year, I think. He was first three years in the prison in Cartagena. But the Bish––”
“Eh? Don Wenceslas had him removed to San Fernando?”
The man nodded.
“And––”
“He will be shot to-morrow, señor.”
Hitt thought with desperate rapidity. Then he looked up. “Why do you say he is an ex-priest?” he asked.
“He has just been excommunicated,” replied the man. “Cursed, they say, by bell, book, and candle.”