"Because then we could pull the school down about their ears and take Juanita away."
Sarrion smiled.
"Or get shot mysteriously from a window while attempting it," he said. "No, we fight with finer weapons than that. Mon has got his dispensation from Rome ... a few hours too late."
He handed back the note, and they sat in silence for a long time in the huge, dimly-lighted room. Success in life rests upon one small gift--the secret of the entry into another man's mind to discover what is passing there. The greatest general the world has known owed his success, by his own admission, to his power of guessing correctly what the enemy would do next. Many can guess, but few guess right.
"She has not dated her letter," said Sarrion, at length.
"No, but it was written on Thursday. That is the day that the colchonero goes to the Calle de la Dormitaleria."
He drew a strand of wool from the envelope and showed it to Sarrion.
"And the day that Mon returned to Pampeluna. He will be prompt to act. He always has been. That is what makes him different from other men. Prompt and restless."
Sarrion glanced across the table, as he spoke, at the face of his son, who was also a prompt man, but withal restful, as if possessing a reserve upon which to draw in emergency. For the restless and the uneasy are those who have all their forces in the field.
"Do not sit up for me," said Marcos, rising. He stood and thoughtfully emptied his glass. "I shall change my clothes," he said, "and go out. There will be plenty of Navarrese at the Posada de los Reyes. The night diligencias will be in before daylight. If there is any news of importance I will wake you when I come in."