“Senor, I know everything!” he cried. “I have known it all along. That was why I remained at home when you were away—to watch, to play the spy. Senor, give me leave! Let me avenge you!”
I shook him off with an oath, for I hated the fellow’s sympathy.
“You fool,” I said, “I want no one to play the spy for me. Stop, though! What do you mean? What would you like to do?”
In a moment he had sprung to his feet, and flashed before my eyes one of those long knives that Spaniards carry. His eyes flashed with homicidal fire.
“I would plunge this into his heart!”
I could not help laughing,—a little furiously.
“Put up that knife, you idiot! Put it up, I say! This is England, not Spain, and here we manage matters very differently. And now, let me have no more of this nonsense. Be good enough to go about your business.”
He yielded almost instantly to my old mastery over him, and, with a respectful bow, withdrew. So ended the curious events of the day. I have set them down in their order as they occurred. I wonder if this is the last act of my little domestic drama? If not, what is to happen next? Well, we shall soon see.