has the
one this way."

"Caramba! this is all pleasant enough. I will pay my respects to the
lady, and there is no time like the present."

He turned away, thumbing his moustache, quite pleased with his conceit,
but one of the men stopped him with a question.

"We remain here, _senor_?"

"Yes, you might as well," his lips smiling, "and if the Senor Cateras
passes, you can tell him that I visit the fair American. It will give
him joy."

The girl drew Cavendish back hurriedly, her mind working in a flash of
inspiration.

"Quick," she breathed in his ear. "There is a niche where we can hide
a few yards back. If he follows the other wall he might pass, and not
notice."

"But he goes to your cell; 'tis Pasqual Mendez."

"I know, but come. He must not go there. I will tell you my plan."

They were pressed back within the slight recess before the Mexican
turned the corner, and she had hastily breathed her desperate scheme.

"It can be done," she insisted, "and there is nought else possible. We
dare not let him enter, and find Cateras, and to kill the man will
serve no good end. You will not? Then give me the revolver. Good!
Be silent now."

Mendez came down the black passage evidently in rare good humour,
humming a tune, with one hand pressed upon the wall to better guide his
movements. So dark it was, even the outlines of his form were
indistinguishable, yet, as he felt no need for caution, it was easy
enough to trace his forward progress. The girl stood erect, the
revolver gripped in one hand, the other pressing back her companion
into the recess. She had lost all sense of fear in the determination
to act; better risk all than surrender without a struggle. Mendez
fumbled along the wall, stumbled over some slight projection and swore;
another step, and his groping hand would touch her. He never took the
step, but was whirled against the side wall, with the cold barrel of a
revolver pressed against his cheek. A stern, sibilant whisper held him
motionless.

"If you move I fire, _senor_; raise your hands--quick!"

He responded mechanically, too profoundly astounded to dream of
resistance. It was the sound of the voice which impressed him.

"Santa Maria! A woman?"

"Yes, _senor_, a woman; the same you sought, but I have found you
first."

He chuckled.

"A good jest surely; how came you here?"

"Not to discuss that, _senor_," quietly. "Nor is this to be laughed
over. If you would live,