“But the Englishman! What of him?” asked Carlos, as, strolling slowly, they were approaching the great old church.
“That Englishman? Oh, yes, I know. You have serious and perhaps foolish apprehensions in that direction,” was the reply of the Deputy-Governor of Navarre. “But, Carlos, you can rest assured that we shall have no real trouble from that quarter. He will die—as the others have done. And he will die very soon!”
“You are quite certain of that?” asked the fisherman eagerly.
“Quite. It is all arranged—an accident—a mystery—and nothing more,” laughed the man from Madrid.
“The Englishman is our most serious enemy,” declared Carlos, as yet only half convinced.
“One by one the enemies of our own Spanish people have been swept away. He will very soon follow them—rest assured. De los enemigos los menes—the fewer enemies the better.”
“But he may go back to England. We discussed it all here at our secret meeting last Thursday.”
“Well, and suppose he is in England, it does not matter. The avenging hand of our great Contraras—who may Dios protect—will strike him there, never fear. Wherever he is, he cannot escape us. He will die, and his death will be a mystery to the English police—as so many deaths have been.”
At that moment the pair found themselves passing the great old Gothic door of Santa Gadea, which the sacristan had thrown open to the air for an hour to clear the atmosphere of incense before closing for the night. In the deep, cavernous silence the eternal red lamp showed before the figure of the Virgin crowned, while far beyond were the long candles burning before the altar, with its many steps.
The sight of those candles impelled the pious and enthusiastic Carlos to suggest that they should enter the church, and there pray for the success of their plans.