most important consideration of all, how would Carera contrive to send me
the right man?

The mystery was solved more quickly than I expected.

After leaving the tribunal, my escort took me back by the way we had come,
the police captain, who was showing himself much more friendly (probably
because he looked on me as a good "Christian" and a dying man), walking
beside instead of behind me; and when we were within a hundred yards or so
of the _carcel_ I observed a Franciscan friar pacing slowly toward us.

I felt intuitively that this was my man; and when he drew nearer a slight
movement of his eyebrows and a quick look of intelligence told me that I
was right.

"I have no acquaintance among the clergy of Caracas," I said to my
conductor. "This friar will serve my purpose as well as a regular priest."

"As you like, senor. Shall I ask him to see you?"

"_Gracias senor capitan_, if you please."

Whereupon the officer respectfully accosted the friar, and after telling
him that I had been condemned to die at sunrise on the morrow, asked if he
would receive my confession and give me such religious consolation as my
case required.

"_Con mucho gusto, capitan_," answered the friar. "When would the senor
like me to visit him?"

"At once, father. My hours are numbered, and I would fain spend the night
in meditation and prayer."

"Come with us, father," said the captain. "The senor has the permission of
the tribunal to see a priest in his own room."

So we entered the prison together, and the captain, having given the
necessary instructions to the turnkey, we were conducted to my room.

"When you have done," he said, "knock at the door, and I will come and let
you out."

"Good! But you need not wait. I shall not be ready for half an hour or
more."

As the key turned in the lock, the _soi-disant_ friar threw back his cowl.
"Now, Senor Fortescue," he said, with a laugh, "I am ready to hear your
confession."

"I confess that I feel as if I were in purgatory already, and I shall be
uncommonly glad if you can get me out of it."

"Well, purgatory is not the pleasantest of places by all accounts, and I
am quite willing to do whatever I can for you. By way of beginning, take
this ointment and smear your face and hands therewith."

"Why?"

"To make you look swart and ugly, like the zambo."

"And then?"

"And then? When the turnkey comes back we shall overpower, bind, and gag
him--if he resists, strangle him. Th