y for
moto-naphtha--as they call it here--at the chemist's."

"Did they have any?"

"Oh yes, sir, they had some. As much as a pint apiece, in the two shops.
They wanted to sell it by the ounce."

Dick and I laughed, though my mirth was not care-free. I had visions of
being stuck at this place until Ropes made a journey to Madrid and back,
Carmona's car slipping away long before we were ready.

"I was afraid it was hopeless to look for petrol here," I said, striving
for resignation, even though I saw Mariquita going upstairs with two
battered tins of hot water.

"Not yet, sir. A man who heard me asking for moto-naphtha at the
chemist's, advised me to try the cemetery."

"The cemetery? You misunderstood the word."

"No, sir; it _was_ cemetery. And what's more, he said the Mayor keeps it
there to kill lobsters."

This statement, delivered somewhat nervously, was received with derision.

"The fellow was stuffing you," said Dick.

"I don't think so, sir."

"Then he's mad," I insisted. "Fishing for lobsters with moto-naphtha in a
cemetery at Manzanares is a story Baron Munchausen would have thought
twice about before telling."

"_Langostas_ does mean _langouste_--or lobsters, I suppose, sir?" asked
Ropes.

"Ye--es," I answered thoughtfully. Then lightning flashed across the
darkness of my mind. "It means locusts as well," said I. "They use petrol
to kill locusts, and for some reason best known to themselves keep it at
the cemetery. We'll go, Ropes, and persuade them to sell us more than an
ounce."

"Right, sir. At once?"

"In a moment," said I.

Mariquita, empty-handed, was coming downstairs. I waylaid her, under that
portion of the balcony hidden from the window of Lady Vale-Avon's room.

"Did you deliver the letter?" I asked.

"Yes, senor."

"To the young lady herself?"

"To herself. But I must tell you what worries me, senor. As I was leaving
the outer room, I heard a sound like a cry of distress, from the inner
room. I looked back, and Her Majesty the mother had gone in. That is all I
know. I could do nothing, whatever had happened, and I felt it would be
well to escape before I could be questioned."

"What do you think happened?"

"How can I tell, senor? Unless the terrible lady snatched your letter from
the angel."

"At least, I hope the angel had had time to read it."

"I do not know, senorito. There was not much time; but she might have been
quick; and if the letter was not long, there