date fixed by Pontiana Tabor happened
to fall precisely in the middle of one of those periods of three weeks
during which the terror did not haunt those seas. Pontiana Tabor had not
known enough. He had fixed his date at a venture.

"Yes," said Hillyard, rising from his chair. "I agree with you, Senor
Ramon. Tabor is a liar. What troubled me was that I had no clue as to
why he should lie. You have given me it, and with all my heart I thank
you."

He shook the stevedore's hand and stood for a moment talking and joking
with him upon other subjects. Hillyard knew the value of a smile and a
jest and a friendly manner. Your very enemy in Spain will do you a good
turn if you meet him thus. Then he turned to Baeza.

"I shall be back, perhaps, in a week, but perhaps not. I will let you
know in the usual way."

The two men went down the stairs and into the street. It was empty now
and black, but at the far end, as at the end of a tunnel, the Rambla
blazed and roared and the crowds swung past like a procession.

"It is best that we should separate here," said Lopez Baeza, "if you
have no further instructions."

"Touching the matter of those ships," Hillyard suggested.

"Senor Fairbairn has it in hand."

"Good. Then, my friend, I have no further instructions," said Hillyard.
"I agree with you about Ramon. I will go first."

He shook hands with Baeza, crossed the road and disappeared into the
mouthway of an alley which ran up the hill parallel to the Rambla. The
alley led into another side street, and turning to the right, Hillyard
slipped out into the throng beneath the trees. He sauntered, as idle and
as curious as any in that broad walk. He took a drink at a cafe, neither
hiding himself unnaturally nor ostentatiously occupying a chair at the
edge of the awning. He sat there for half an hour. But when he rose
again he made sure that no one was loitering to watch his movements. He
sauntered up to the very end of the Rambla past the ice-cream kiosque.
The great Plaza spread in front of him, and at the corner across the
road stood a double line of motor-cars, some for hire, others waiting
for parties in the restaurants opposite. He walked across the roadway
and disappeared in between the motor-cars as if he intended to cross the
Plaza by the footway to the Paseo de la Reforma. A second later a
motor-car shot out from the line and took the road to Tarragona.

Hillyard was inside the car. The tall houses of the city gave p