“Why? He looks really quite harmless. Who is he?”
“Nobody exactly knows,” was the fisherman’s reply, as they turned up the narrow Calle Mayor, that old-world street of high, handsome houses, mostly adorned with the crumbling coats-of-arms of the ancient proprietors, and with balconies of wrought iron, and wide, projecting roofs across the narrow footway. “He has been here for about four months, yet he is not attached to Santa Gadea. Sometimes he visits the sick, and all speak well of him. But both Cardona and Cienfuegos agree with my suspicions that he is a Government agent, and that he is here to find out all he can.”
His companion grunted.
“Dios! If that is really so, then we must discover more about him,” he said. “I trust, however, you are wrong, for, as you say, he might recognise me again. And that would certainly be most awkward in my position—as Deputy-Governor of the Province of Navarre.”
“Yes, Excellency, that is why I cursed him,” replied the intelligent fisherman, with a smile. “At our meeting last Thursday, we discussed whether Father Gonzalo should not meet with—well, meet with an accident.”
“No, no!” replied the other quickly, raising his voice because at the moment a heavy cart, with its great wood disc wheels, drawn by two white bulls and laden with wine barrels, rumbled past them slowly over the cobbles. “Not here—that would never do, never! It would upset all our plans! We must be cautious—always cautious. Watch him, and report to me in the usual way—a letter to the Poste Restante in Madrid. I will at once inquire all about this mysterious Father, and the reason he has come to Fonterrabia. He may, as you suspect, be an agent of the Ministry in disguise.”
“We are quite certain that he is.”
“If so, he must not remain here,” declared the stranger decisively. “It would certainly be extremely dangerous for you, and for all your friends. The success of our coup depends upon entire secrecy. Your little circle here have ever been loyal and undaunted. There must be no betrayal, as there was, you recollect, in Barcelona before the war.”
“Barcelona is a city, Fonterrabia is only a little town, and hence it should escape suspicion,” was the educated young fisherman’s remark. “Ours we know to be a just and honest cause, and we all, as sons of Spain, are each of us prepared willingly to sacrifice our lives if necessary.”
“Well said, Carlos! Our gallant leader, Ferdinand Contraras, who has lately sacrificed most of his great fortune to secure the salvation of Spain, is aware of your loyalty,” Zorrilta assured him. “A little time ago I was with him at one of our secret sessions at Toledo, and he mentioned you, and your friends here—and praised you for your patriotism as a true son of Spain.”