ill bring
the lady; but it is not a house, in your way of speaking, senor. It is a
cave in the hillside which I have made my home, for I am a _gitano_."

"You live above the Albaicin, in the gypsy quarter, then?" I said.

"No, senor, nearer here than that. You must have seen, if you have walked
about the neighbourhood, that there are many other caves which honeycomb
the hillsides. To find mine you must go towards the cemetery, take the
first turn to the right, follow the winding road which descends, then up a
rough path, and stop at the first of the three gypsy caves. I must not
wait for you, as I have to see that my sister and the lady arrive safely.
But you cannot miss the place; and if I am not waiting at the door, open
it without knocking and walk in. Is that understood, senor?"

"Yes," I said.

"Then I will go to watch for my sister near the palace. At half-past ten,
senor."

"At half-past ten." I echoed his words, and watched him out of sight as he
tramped away in the direction which would take him to the Albaicin. Then I
hurried back to the villa and opened the packet. It contained the
shield-shaped Toledo brooch by the gift of which I had infuriated Carmona;
that, and nothing besides. But--unless it had been stolen from her--it was
an assurance that she had sent the messenger, that she wished me to trust
him.

Nevertheless, there was danger that I might fall into a trap in keeping a
night tryst at the cave of a gypsy, especially a gypsy who had either
deserted or been banished from the colony. But not to run this risk was to
run a far greater one, that of losing the chance offered by Monica; and of
such an alternative I could not even think.

If I told the man, Pepe, who looked after my wants at the villa where I
intended to go, I might succeed in compromising Monica, in case she were
so late that Pepe was alarmed. As her name must be kept out of the affair
at any cost, I decided that due caution would be protection enough. Unless
the news of my presence in Granada had reached Carmona in his bed, there
was little fear of treachery; and when I slipped into my hip pocket the
revolver bought in Madrid, I felt that I was safe.

It was a dark and lonely road, that way of the dead. Not a soul had I met
when I reached a narrow path, a mere goat track, leading higher up the
hillside to a row of four or five tiny lighted windows in the rock. These
must, I knew, mark the cave dwellings of which the gypsy had spoke