that there would be no verbal message.
From the mysterious folds of the friar's sleeves a letter instantly
emerged.

"They have blundered. The man is still living. You had better come," it
said; and that was all.

"And what do you know of this affair, my brother?" asked Mon, holding the
letter to the candle, and, when it was ignited, throwing it on to the
cold ashes in the open fireplace, where it burnt.

"Little enough, Excellency. One of the Fathers, praying at his window,
heard the sound of a struggle in the street, and I was sent out to see
what it signified. I found a man lying on the ground, and, according to
instructions, did not touch him, but went back for help."

Mon nodded his compact head thoughtfully.

"And the man said nothing?"

"Nothing, Excellency."

"You are a wise man, my brother. Go, and I will follow you."

The friar's meek face was oily with that smile of complete
self-satisfaction which is only found when foolishness and fervour meet
in one brain.

Mon rose slowly from his chair and stretched himself. It was evident that
had he followed his own inclination he would have gone to bed. He perhaps
had a sense of duty. He had not far to go, and knew the shortest ways
through the narrow streets. He could hear a muleteer shouting at his
beasts on the bridge as he crossed the Calle Don Jaime I. The streets
were quiet enough otherwise, and the watchman of this quarter could be
heard far away at the corner of the Plaza de la Constitucion calling to
the gods that the weather was serene.

Evasio Mon, cloaked to the eyes against the autumn night, hurried down
the Calle San Gregorio and turned into an open doorway that led into the
patio of a great four-sided house. He climbed the stone stair and knocked
at a door, which was instantly opened.

"Come!" said the man who opened it--a white-haired priest of benevolent
face. "He is conscious. He asks for a notary. He is dying! I thought
you--"

"No," replied Mon quickly. "He would recognise me, though he has not seen
me for twenty years. You must do it. Change your clothes."

He spoke as with authority, and the priest fingered the silken cord
around his waist.

"I know nothing of the law," he said hesitatingly.

"That I have thought of. Here are two forms of will. They are written so
small as to be almost illegible. This one we must get signed if we can;
but, failing that, the other will do. You see the difference. In this one
the pin is from lef