"Ah, Mr. Commendone, we meet again," came in excellent English, as the man removed his broad-brimmed felt hat.
"You have come a long way from England, Mr. Commendone, you and your—friends. But the arm of the King, the hand of the Church, which are as the arm of God Himself, can stretch swiftly and very far."
Johnnie's face grew dead white as he heard the well-remembered voice of Father Diego Deza. In a flash he remembered that King Philip's confessor and confidential adviser had told him that he was to leave England for Spain on the morning of the very day when he had rescued Elizabeth from shame.
His voice rattled in his throat and came hoarsely through parched lips. He made one effort, though he felt that it was hopeless.
"Don Diego," he said, "I am very glad to see you in Spain"—the other gave a nasty little laugh. "Don Diego," Johnnie continued, "I have offended nothing against the laws of England. What means this capture and durance of myself and my companions?"
"You are not in England now, Mr. Commendone," the priest replied; "but you are in the dominion of His Most Catholic Majesty; you are not accused of any crime against the civil law of England or of this country, but I, in my authority as Grand Inquisitor of the Holy Office in Seville—to do which duty I have now come to Spain—arrest you and your companions on charges which will be afterwards disclosed to you.
"Take them away," he said in Spanish to his officers.
There was a horrid wail, echoing and re-echoing through the long room and beating upon the ear-drums of all who were there....
Madame La Motte had heard all that the priest had said in English. She shrieked and shrieked again.
"Ah-h-h! C'est vrai alors! L'inquisition! qui lance la mort!"