The priest shook his head, still smiling.
"It is of no importance," he said quietly; "you are a Russian, of course?"
The stranger stared at him blankly. These Jesuits—strange stories had been told about them. A body with a secret organisation, spread over the world—it had been said that they were hand-in-hand with the police——
"I knew you were a Russian; I lived for some time in St. Petersburg. Besides, you are only Spanish to your feet," the Jesuit looked down at the stranger's boots,—"they are not Spanish; they are much too short."
The stranger laughed again. After all, this was a confirmation of his views of Jesuits.
"You, my father," he accused in his turn, "are a teacher; a professor at the College of Madrid: a professor of languages." He stopped and looked up to the awning that spread above him, seeking inspiration. "A professor of Greek," he said slowly.
"Arabic," corrected the other; "but that deduction isn't clever, because the Jesuits at Madrid are all engaged in scholastic work."
"But I knew you came from Madrid."
"Because we both came by the same train," said the calm priest, "and for the same purpose."
The stranger's eyes narrowed.