"I cannot imagine what your excellency and I can have in common. We have met once—I think at Señor Luazo's, wasn't it?"
"We did meet there, Mr. Sydney, certainly, but it is about the lady who accompanied you here from England that I want to have a word with you."
"You mean Miss Baxendale?"
Dasso nodded.
They had been moving along the path slowly as they were speaking, and Edward noted with satisfaction that now a few feet only separated him from the entrance to the alley. If only he could take the attention of the two men from himself for a moment.—A thought occurred to him.
"Ah, yes—the young lady. If that is so, I think that this will interest you, Señor Dasso."
As he spoke he took from his breast pocket an envelope; it was, in fact, a London tailor's bill and was addressed to him at Belitha Villas, but in the gloom it served its purpose.
Dasso took it and drew out the folded sheet of paper it contained, holding it up to catch the moon-rays which here and there penetrated the leafage surrounding them.
Edward Povey seized the opportunity he had created, and, for the first and last time in his life, he struck a man. The blood surged joyously through his veins and sang a hymn of power in his brain as his fist shot out straight and true, and he felt the knuckles grind into the evil face of Gabriel Dasso. Then with a leap he had gained the dark alley way.
Dasso put a hand to his face and called out to Mozara, and in a moment the lieutenant was giving chase. Edward heard the sound of running footsteps behind him and he mended his pace.