The peasant struck up a rousing song in praise of wine. But in the middle of the third verse he stopped. They were crossing the road which led from Navares to the main gate of the abbey. José sank on one knee and pored over something he had seen.
Two wheels had cut two deep grooves in the wet sand. José measured the distance between them with his two palms. Then he examined the marks of the horse's shoes.
"These wheels," he said, "were not Portuguese. And, unless they've shod him in Lisbon or Oporto, these shoes didn't belong to a Portuguese horse."
Antonio hardly heard him. High on the hill, from inside the principal window of the abbey guest-house, the flame of a candle looked out like a living thing.
BOOK IV
THE AZULEJOS
I
Until one o'clock in the morning Antonio and José sat in council. But their session was barren.
Who was up at the guest-house? Could it be the Viscount de Ponte Quebrada, resuming his search for the buried pictures and chalices? They thought not. The Viscount had become a considerable personage, and could not afford to run such risks. Or was it the Viscount's old accomplice, the Captain? Perhaps. The Captain had little to lose. But no: it could not be he. A thief would never have proclaimed his presence by setting lights in front windows.
For a minute or two Antonio indulged a hope that the visitor was merely his old adversary, the official of the Fazenda at Villa Branca. But José shook his head, and said that such a guess was too good to be true. He went on to avow a presentiment that the abbey had been sold. Antonio could not contradict him, and the two men sat silent for a long time.