What was he doing there at this hour? Was it a thief or a burglar?
There was no lack of evil-disposed folk in this time of want.
Wolf still wore his court costume, and the short dress sword which belonged to it hung in its sheath.
His heart beat quicker as he loosed the blade and advanced toward the suspicious night-bird.
Just then he saw the other calmly turn the big key and take it out of the door.
That could be no thief! No, certainly not!
It was a gentleman of tall stature, whose aristocratic figure and Spanish court costume were partially covered by a long cloak.
There was no doubt! Wolf could not be mistaken, for, while the former was putting the key in his pocket, the mantle had slipped from one shoulder.
"Malfalconnet," muttered Wolf, grasping the hilt of his short sword more firmly.
But at the same moment the moonlight showed him the Spaniard's face. A chill ran through his frame, followed by a feverish heat, for the nocturnal intruder into his house was not the baron, but Quijada, the noble Don Luis, his patron, who had just been lauding to the skies the virtues, the beauty, the goodness of the peerless Dona Magdalena de Ulloa, his glorious wife. He had intended to send Wolf, the friend and housemate of his victim, to Spain to become the instructor of his deceived wife.
He saw through the game, and it seemed as if he could not help laughing aloud in delight at his own penetration, in rage and despair.