ica might come while we lingered.
But she did not, nor did we see her in the Colegio de San Gregorio. There,
in the lovely inner court, however, I found a little grey glove on the
marble pavement, and so like a certain other glove did it look that I
annexed it, to compare with that other which lived in my breast-pocket
with its friend the rose.

The pair matched in size, colour, and dainty shape. Even the fragrance of
orris hung about it, and I knew this second glove had not been dropped by
accident. Monica had been here, and she had left a message for me to read
if I followed.

XV

HOW THE DUKE CHANGED

"Lecomte getting ready, sir," were Ropes' first words to me next morning;
"and I've brought our car to the door."

He had other news, too. An automobile had come in last night from Madrid,
a sixty horse-power Merlin, and the chauffeur had reported snow half a
metre deep on the mountains. The Merlin had stuck, he said, and had to be
pulled out with oxen. Supposing the Duke intended going to Madrid instead
of turning off by way of Salamanca, he--and incidentally we--seemed likely
to come in for an adventure.

We had all taken coffee and rolls in our rooms, as nobody dreams of going
downstairs for breakfast in a Spanish hotel; and soon after eight we were
jolting out of "Val" through streets as execrably paved as those by which
we entered. We had kept Ropes waiting after his announcement only long
enough to strap our luggage on the roof; and as the other car had luggage
and passengers also to pick up, we were just in time to see it leaving the
house of the Duke's relations with everyone on board.

As the Lecomte took the road to the south on leaving town, it gave us an
assurance that it would not make for Salamanca; but there was still doubt
as to its movements. It could go to Madrid direct over the snow heights of
the Sierra Guadarrama, or it could pay a visit to the Escurial. It might
even halt there for the night; and as there were so many alternatives, we
were anxious to keep our leader continually in view.

The wind was bitter cold, and Pilar shivered in her cloak, which was not
made for motoring. When Dick saw this, before I could speak he had his own
fur-lined coat off, insisting that she should put it on. "I can take Casa
Triana's," said he, "since he's still posing as a soldier of Spain." And a
glance warned me not to blunder by asking why, in the name of com