"You are a player, then?"
"If it please your excellency."
"Where have you played?"
"At Madrid, where I was the keeper of the Duke of Segovia's court; and at Toledo, where I frequently had the honour of playing against M. de Montserrat."
"You are a good player?"
"If your excellency," he answered impulsively, "will give me an opportunity—"
"Softly, softly," I said, somewhat taken aback by his earnestness. "Granted that you are a player, you seem to have played to small purpose.. Why are you here, my friend, and not in Madrid?"
He drew up his sleeves, and showed me that his wrists were deeply scarred.
I shrugged my shoulders. "You have been in the hands of the Holy Brotherhood?" I said.
"No, my lord," he answered bitterly. "Of the Holy Inquisition."